Ancient Roma Songs - Next Page Foundation

Jana
BELIŠOVÁ
Ancient
Roma
Songs
Mek me jekhvar kamav
kaj zdravo te avav,
kaj me pro la dvori
smutna te giľava,
kaj man mri daj, mro dad
odoj te šunena.
Imar na bijina,
chodz te bi merava.
Phurikane giľa
ancient Romany songs
© Žudro
Project was supported / O projektos šigitinde
Next Page Foundation
Open Society Foundation
First edition 2005 / Jekhto avri diňipen
All rights reserved / Savore resipena hine avri thode
Editor / E editorka: © Jana Belišová
© Jana Belišová, Zuzana Mojžišová
Romany parts of book / Romane kotora andre genďi
Translation / Thoviben andre aver čhib: František Godla
Proofs of translation / Čhibakri korektura andro čhibakro thoviben: František Godla
Proof of songs / Čhibakri korektura pal o giľutne lava: Milan Godla, Daniela Šilanová
English parts of book / Angličaňika kotora andre genďi
Translation / Thoviben andre aver čhib: Mária Nováková, Marián Gazdík
Translation of songs / The thovel andre čhib le giľengre lava: Daniela Olejárová
Proofs / Čhibakri korektura: Gail Ollsson
Photos / O fotografiji: © Daniela Rusnoková, Jana Belišová
Ilustrations / O ilustraciji: © Jaroslav Beliš
Design / O disajnos: © Zuzana Číčelová, Calder – design community
ISBN: 80-968855-5-3
Ancient
Romany
songs
Hoj de pro cintiris bari brana,
hoj de na ľigenen mri piraňa.
Jaj, de ma ľigen la mek Romale,
hoj de na sik avľom, na dikhľom, sovav.
Jana
BELIŠOVÁ
Ancient
Romany
songs
Marián VARGA
lavutaris the sthovel o bašaviben
al oda sar šilales ile lesk ro koncertos andro Manchester, the pal o dujto čho-neskro bašaviben andro
Berlin, pro agor apriľiske andro 1904 berš visaľiľas o Bela Bartok pale khere Budapeštate. Leskri voďi
sas nasvaľi olestar savi reakcija leske kerde o Angličana, vaš oda geľas andre gemeriko regionos kaj dživelas
5 čhona u odoj pes jekhtovar andro peskro dživipen arakhľas varesoha, so leskro forutuno intelektualno
thoviben našťi diňas, oda sas autenticko folkloris. O Bartok sas but fascinimen. Phundraďas pes leske o
vudar andro dži akor prekal leste na džanľi, but šukar folklorna giľengri luma, save ile opral leste peskeri zor
pro igisno leskeri dureder buťi pal e muzika.
P
Maj pal oda leske avľas andre leskeri goďi oda, hoj o phurikane giľa save giľavenas imar ča o phure
džuvľa šaj pal o na but berša našľon andro bisteripen. Sar avľas pale andre Budapešta mangľas prekal peste
štipendija, pal o skidipnaskro drom. Ale vazdipnaha leskero profesijonalno subtilnone, na but saste
manušeskro dživipen, chudňas trin dimenziji – sthovľarďi, interpretačno the skidipnaskri. Bari loš savaha pes
mukhľas te kerel sako jekh lendar, šaj elas dosta pro jekh manušikano dživipen.
The te zoraleder pes interesinelas pal o etnikano folkloros andre bari Ungriko, leskre skidipnaskre droma
denašenas buter dromenca andre sasti Europa: Andal e Škandinavija dži e Afrika, andal e Portugalija dži o
nomadengre pochtanengre tabori andre Turkija, paš oda nadaralas but mište te sikľol rumuňiko čhib, te
sikľol berberiko, kobilsko, perzijakri, the o slovanska čhiba..., hoj te šaj feder achaľol, te skirinel the te sortirinel o giľa. Le skidipnaha chudňas pro aver ňilaj Silaďicende andro Nitrakro regijonos...
Mangav, te omukhen mange vaš ada, šaj dinďardo angluno lav ki e charňi pointa. No sar dikhavas andro
miro sakoďivesutno skiripen, važnones the pheraseha, no maj but bare manušikane achaľuvipnaha, sar peske
leperavas pro dukhade-asabnaskre momenti, andro adaj ramosardo, skidipnaskro giľengro materijalos andal
o romane gava (osadi) andre vichodno Slovakija, andro refreni miro dumipen pes arakhelas paš o Belas
Bartok, savo anglo šel berša, sar phirelas pal o paňale the čikale droma – nadroma, pale Upruňi Ungriko,
Sedmohradsko, the pal o Balkanos... andre dživelas ipen ajse situaciji, ipen ajso dujeserengro šokos. Avka
sar akanutne Roma, the akorutne na džanle pindrange gadže, ladžaha the daraha avenas ki o fonografos, but
zvlaštno mašina, andre savi jekh terno raj andal o foros len ispidelas te giľavel, na devleskere, vaj sthode giľa,
kamelas te giľaven so maj phurikane giľa.
Andro 1928 berš o Bela Bartok diňas andre Slovaťiko Matica prekal e Čechoslovakijakri ambasada andre
Budapešta, agorutno kotor andal o skidipen 3000 slovakijakre manušengre giľa, the le fonografenca the
pheňibenenca sar oda avri te ramosarel.
Andro dovakeriben pes e Slovakijakri Matica phandľas te del avri ola giľa dži o štar berša. O Bartok
muľas deš the efta berš pal oda, no le giľengro avridiňipen pes na do džidžiľas...
Gondoľinav hoj adi publikacija hiňi, the te na but buchľi, no šaj avel peskera zoraha na džanľi, paťiv
sikaďi le ungrikone artistoske so le Slovakenge andre arakhľas maj bareder kotor lengra voďakro
ačhipnaskro, avka sar oda akana Slovaka keren prekal o romano etnikum.
9
Marián VARGA
musician and composer
t the end of April 1904, after the cold reception of his concerts in Manchester and a month and a half
stay in Berlin, Béla Bartók returned home, to Budapest. Depressed by the misunderstanding shown
by the English audience, Béla spent the next five months in the Gemer countryside. That may have been the
first time in his life that he experienced authentic folklore, something his intellectual civic background could
never have offered him. Bartók was fascinated. Folk songs significantly affected his later creations. The door
of an unexplored and wonderful world was suddenly open to him. At the same time he realized that those
ancient songs were rarely sung and mainly by elderly women, threatening them with early extinction.
Immediately upon his return to Budapest, he applied for a scholarship to enable him to begin a collecting
exursion. This decision changed the professional life of a subtle man of weak health and enriched it in three
dimensions: composing, interpreting and collecting. His enthusiasm and the depths in which he immersed
each of them could have taken an entire human life.
A
He was most intensively engaged in the ethnic folklore of Hungary. Nevertheless, his collecting
expeditions led him to the furthest reaches of Europe: from Scandinavia to Africa, from Portugal to nomad
camps in Turkey. His intense interest would not allow him to hesitate in learning Romanian, Berber Kabylian
language, and Persian or Slavic languages... so that he might be able to precisely comprehend, sort and
record songs. The following summer he began collecting songs in Siladice in Nitra County.
I apologize for my fairly long foreword to make short point. As I thumbed through the journal, in which
objectively and also humorously, but most of all with deep human understanding, the sad-and-yet funny
circumstances of the collection of the hereafter published songs from Romany camps in Eastern Slovakia are
described, my mind regularly returned to Béla Bartók, who, a hundred years ago, had wandered muddy
roads and paths in Upper Hungary, Romania, the Balkans... and had probably experienced the identical
situations, the same mutual culture shock. Those confused and ashamed, barefooted peasants approached
the strange device of the phonograph and a young man coming from the town, who did not make them sing
into it religious or composed songs, but the most ancient ones.
In 1928, Béla Bartók submitted the last installment of the collection of 3000 Slovak folk songs along with
the phonograph records and detailed printing instructions to Matica slovenská through the Czechoslovak
Embassy in Budapest. According to the contract Matica slovenská promised to publish these songs within four
years. However, when Béla Bartók died seventeen years later the songs had not yet been published in
Slovakia.
I assume that this book, however small in size, yet great in significance, is an unintended honour and a
payment of the debt to the Hungarian composer who saved the most important part of Slovak spiritual and
cultural heritage in the same way as the Slovaks do at this time for the Romany people.
10
Jana BELIŠOVÁ
ANGLUNO LAV PAL ODA,
SOSKE AVĽAS AVRI KADI GENĎI
Romane bašavibnaha dživav ciknedere vaj baredere ačhibenenca imar dešuštar berš. Pro čačipen talam
the buter, ča pal oda na džanavas. Prekal o prazdňini phiravas paš e miri phuri dajori Žehňate – andro gav
paš o Perješis, kaj o Roma bešen andre romaňi osada so pes vičinel Hurka. Hurka andre slovaťiko čhib pes
vičinel Hôrka (romaňi osada pro partos pal o gav) romanes (goj). Ňilaje sako rat pal e Hurka šunďolas baro
šukar bašaviben the giľavipen. Me pes varesave romane čhavorenca počoral khelavavas. Počoral vaš oda, bo
te oda džanľahas miri lačhi phuri daj, bares pre mande rušelas. Te ľikerel pes le Romenca sas baro binos, ipen
ajso sar te ľikerel pes le chuliganenca. Oda pes ľidžalas sar vareso nalačho. Akor mek na džanavas te phenel
či oda hin lačho, vaj na. Lavas oda sar faktos. Akana imar pro oda dikhav avre jakhenca. Čačipen hin, hoj
andro mire dinďarde bala pal o romane prazdňini sas pherdo džuva, vaš oda aňi mira dajora na sas andro
lakro jilo than prekal o mire romane amala.
Akor the odoj varekhaj pes oda igisno ačhiľas. Chudelas man jilestar sar šunavas romane giľa so peske
giľavenas o romane čhavore. Sakovar kana giľavenas, giľavenas čačes, jilestar, na ča avka varesar. Miri phuri
daj imar nadživel, me napreačhiľom te phirel pal o Roma. Akana phirav buter sar angomis, phirav pal o
romano autenticko bašaviben.
Sigeder sar skirinďom adi genďi, buterval phiravas avre manušenca, maškar save sas o študenti pal e
socialno buťi andal e Katedra pal e romaňi kultura Ňitrate, the o externa študentki pal e socialno buťi
Bratislavatar save hine adoptivna daja romane čhavorengre, lekhaďi, scenaristka, romaňi aktivistka,
fotografka the vitvarnička, o kolegas andal e buťi, o rom the vitvarňikos andro jekh manuš. Oda, prekal soste
phirahas pal o Roma, hino garudo andro lava – Phurikane giľa.
Pašal o giľa, kidahas the oda so maškar o Roma predžidžiľam u so sas prekal amende ajso zoralo, hoj
kamľam jekhetane le giľenca avri te del the oda so predžidžiľam. Se o giľa avenas (vaj na avenas) jekhetane
oleha so predžidžiľam. Oda sa amenge ačhiľas andro amare jile, the andro amare šere, diňas amenge
orientacija kaj o autenticko giľutno kampel te buchľarel the pal o sako ďivesutno, vaj pal o dromengro
skirimo? Jekhto sako ďivesutno spontanno ramosarďas e Zuzana Mojžišova pal o jevendutno prinďaripen
pre Spiša. Oda sas ajso interesantno gindo, hoj avka kamľam te ramosarel savore amare droma. O vakeribena
pal oda sar phirahas pal o romane osadi pašal o Perješis, the e Bartva skirinďas e Jana Belišová; o vakeribena
pal o trin agorutna droma pašal e Spišska Nova Ves, Snina the Levoča skirinďas e Zuzana Mojžišová.
O manuša den bare love pro exotikane dovolenki. U ajsi exotika savi roden Afrikate, vaj andro indianika
rezervaciji len hin na but kilometri, pašes paš peskre khera, andro la Europakro jilo. Sar jekha mirake
amalake sikavavas avionika foto pal e Jarovnica, na kamelas te paťal, hoj ajso than hin andre Slovaťiko them.
Te avre manušenge vakeravas pal o melale čhavore pre tele marďi phuv, gondoľinenas hoj mange avri
gondoľinav. Afrika vaj India? Dosta hin te džal pre andrephenďi phuv. Te kamen, aven andre amenca.
VARESO PAL O PHURIKANE ROMANE GIĽA
O Roma sakovar andre manušengri societa dživenas pro agor, the vaš oda pes lengro bašaviben, lengri
muzika čhivelas tele, vaj kerelas pes lake nalačhi interpretacija. Maj baro argumentos sar tele te thovel lengro
naturalno talentos sas oda, hoj o romano bašaviben nane čačes autenticko, ča reprodukčno. So hin pal oda,
hoj len Romen nane peskro čačikano romano bašaviben. Ada dikhiben pro romane lavutara pes buchľarďas
vaš oda bo o parne manuša naprindžarenas autenticko romano folkloris. Vaš o čačika-no romano bašaviben
pes univerzalnones ľidžalas oda so bašavenas o romane bandi, so bašavenas vaš o love andro forutune
kavejakre khera, vaj pro bijava. Ola lavutara bašavenas oda so lendar kamenas te šunel o parne manuša. Avka
bašavenas the na but romane giľa, the o giľa pro kheľiben, popularna giľa, the majoritakre folklorna giľa.
Sakovar oda sas štilizacia „prekal varekaste” prekal o na romano publikum.
13
Autenticko romano bašaviben kampel te rodel odoj kaj dživen o Roma, kaj dživen lengre autenticka giľa
andre peskeri intimita, bi e štilizacija prekal o publikum. Andro tradična romane komuniti mek hin the akana
dosta bari baza andre savi dureder dživen romane giľa. O bašaviben the o giľa hine dživipen, hine katarzija
so žužarel, the ventilos prekal e loš, the prekal e dukh. Zorale šuňibena kovľon prekal o bašaviben. Vakerel
pes hoj o Roma hine lačhe lavutara. Avka ačhel o phučiben, sar hine bašavibnaskre dispoziciji dine le
Romenge genetikanes u sar hine produktos romane thaneskro. Se the pal o Slovaka pes vakerel (vakerelas)
hoj hine giľavutňi nacija, no akana imar pal o giľa andro lengro sakoďivesutno dživipen but na ačhiľas. Šaj
pes ačhel a akanutňi situacija romane giľengri pro oda sikavel, hoj avka sar rosňarol romano dživipnaskro
štilo, našľol avri dživipnaskri zor perdal o bašaviben a ov posikra pes našavla. Majphureder romano
bašaviben merel imar akana.
Pre aver sera andro romano folkloros uštarel e popularno muzika u zorales les pal sako sera prekerel. Bi
e popularno muzika so o terne šunen andal o radio, vaj andal e televizija, bari zor hin andro romane kapeli.
Vaš oda hoj nane phares te del avri bašavibnaskro CD vaj magnetofonoskri paska, avka oda keren. Sako nevo
bašavibnaskro CD vaj magnetofonoskri paska pes maj sig buchľarel pal e igisno Slovakia. Avka andro jekh
časos šaj šunas andro but romane lokaliti ipen ajse romane moderna giľa. O moderna giľa hine but buchle,
barvale the variabilna. O giľa uľon, meren, lengro aritistikano kvaliteto hino variabilno, ča varesave lendar
dživen but u ačhaven pes andro le Romengro stabilno repertoaris.
Akana šaj arakhas džide trin sorti romane giľa:
1. Phurikane giľa
– loke giľa (halgatovi)
– kheľibnaskre giľa (čardaša)
2. Maškarutňi sorta
3. Neve giľa
O purane giľa, majbut o halgatovi save jekh džene vičinen phurikane giľa, aver džene pharipnaskre giľa,
maj aver džene mulačagi, vaj giľa pro roviben, sig našľon. Andro amaro prindžaripen kerďam koncentra-cija
ipen pr’ola giľa, so pes dikhel hoj len kamľam andre te arakhel. O giľa musaj samas phares te rodel bo sas
but bisterde. Rodahas phure manušen, bo o terne imar ala giľa imar avka napridžaren. U the te len
prindžaren, but lenge na phenen. Na predžidžile mek (u šaj avel hoj aňi na predživena) ajse dukha sar lengre
daja, dada, o phure daja o phure dada. No o phureder manuša, sar len mangahas hoj te giľa-ven, na kamenas.
Nabirinenas, sas nasvale, vaj o pharo dživipen len namukhelas kaj te giľaven. E guraža andre kaja
bašavibnaskri archeológia amenge dodahas oleha, hoj gondoľinahas kaj keras lačhi buťi anglo korkore
Roma. Paťas, hoj andro dukhade giľa hin le Romen garuďi lengri dukhaďi historija the but baro barvaľipen.
Akana mek leskro kučipen naprindžaren, no andro dureder ideja šaj but del na ča lenge kor-korenge.
O giľa save sikavas andre amari genďi Phurikane giľa, skidňam prekal o šov prindžaripnaskre bešibena,
andro buter manušikane kombinaciji augustostar 2001 dži o majos 2002, kana geľam andro 37 romane osadi
pre vichodno Slovaťiko. Andro varesave osadi kerďam peskere prindžaripena sigeder, mek andro berša
1988–1995. Ola kuč prindžaripena mange dine šanca te kerel komparacija pal oda savi situacija ačhiľas pal
13–14 berša.
Gondoľinavas, hoj te resel o giľa na ela but phares. Ajse sas mire akorutne prindžaripena. No varekana
man sas buter vakt te phandavel asociaciji. Andro nevo romano gav džalas manca miro amal amdal o aver
romano gav, phenďas hoj som leskeri amal u avka le Romengro paťaben ačhiľas pro zorale pindre. Ke jekh
fameľija phiravas buterval u o but giľa na sas podstatno kriterijum. Paš o agorutna prindžaripena oda sas
imar aver, vaš oda hoj lengri koncepcija sas buchleder u lengro agoripen sas te prindžarel savi hiňi e situacija
phurikane giľengra kulturakri andro bareder regionos. Paš e ajsi buťi amenge na ačhelas vakt to ačhavel
zoraleder asociaciji. Musaj samas te avel bikivel jekhtona simpatienca, vaj na simpatienca.
Andro varesave romane gava džahas avka hoj amenge vareko odoj kerďas lačho nav, vaj andre amen sas
kontaktno manuš. Frima kana oda sas lačho. Maj but feder sas oda, te andre amari grupa sas romano murš,
vaj džuvľi so džanelas mište te vakerel. Buterval samas andro naprindžargutne romane gava ča avka. Maj
pašal amende ačhile but džene manuša, savenge vakerahas ko sam, the so kamas. E situacija kana ňiko na
phenďas lav sas dosta džindžarďi. No andro sako than pes arakhelas manuš so ajsi situacija phagelas. Imar
vaj ki o lačho, vaj ki o rosno agor. Avka sar amen prindžarďam e situacija, feder pes sihkavnas o džuvľa. Ipen
on džanenas te prevakerel olen so kerenas vika, the te arakhel maškar lende lačhe manušen, džanenas te
prevakerel varekas, hoj te na ladžal pes vaš o peskro čorikano bešiben u te mukhel amen ke peste. Arakhľam
amen vaj keci muršenca, so amenge napaťanas u kerenas pre amende nalačhe lavenca, the chudenas te
špekulinel pal o love.
Univezalo pes amenge maj feder kerelas le terne manušenca, le džuvľenca the le čhavorenca. Maj bareder hasna amen sas le phure džuvľendar so džanenas maj buter phurikane giľa. O džuvľa the o terne manuša
14
šukares amenca kamenas te kerel the paš oda sar andre romaňi čhib ramosarahas o lava, the sar len thovahas
andre slovaťiko čhib, the te kampelas džanas amenca andro aver romano gav. O murša pes amendar ľikerena
dureder džindžardeder vakt, but amenca navakerenas u te, sikavenas amenge hoj hine buter. Varesave
phureder murša pes kerenas hoj hin len but buťi, hoj len nane vakt, akana sar hine bibuťakre. Oda kerenas
ča avka, prekal o jakha, načačes.
Kidňam vaj 130 dukhade giľa (halgatovi). Olestar savo charakteris hin ole giľen, the savi sas lengri
interpretacija, dikhel pes lengro numero. O giľavne kana giľaven o dukhade giľa but keren improvizacija
andro textos hin idiomi sasto veršo, vaj strofa. Avka pes ačhiľas kaj andre jekh giľi arakhľam veršos savo
prindžarďam andal e aver giľi. O texto našti avel maj bareder kriteriumo. Maj zoralo the andre melodija hin
dosta baro paruvipen the improvizacija. Sa jekh giľi šaj pes giľavel sikra vaj but avrether.
Maj akor te hine andal o aver lokaliti. Arakhľam the aver examplo – sar andre Svinná, kaj sajekha giľavňa
sas lakri melodikani mustra andre savi thovelas peskre lava. Sakovar kana amenge kamelas te giľavel varesavi
aver giľli, giľaďas ča aver lava. E melodija ačhiľas.
The te e improvizacija hiňi bazalno charakteristika andro halgato giľa the avka šaj te prindžaras
individualno giľa. Varesaven lendar hin ajsi zoraľi forma, hoj kana len šunďam butvar andro but thana, o
paruvipen sas minimalno. Aver giľa iľam pre paska ča andre kejh lokalita, vaj sas giľaďi ča jekhe manušeha.
Vaš kada dikhľam sar but impotantno andre kadi publikacija te skirinel savore gava kaj iľam e giľi pre paska.
The kada na sikavel exaktno e situacija the save giľa pen giľaven andre individualna lokaliti. Kana varesavi
giľi iľam pre paska buterval u andre nevi osada o manuša la kamle te giľavel, phenďam lenge kaj kadi giľi
imar šunďam. Te lenge naphenďamas, o maj but prindžarde giľa šunďamas šelvar (sar examplo romano
roviben Čhajori romaňi, giľa Soven čhave soven, E kapura pre man phandľi, Te mamo adari džav, Veša, veša
churde veša, Phagle mange mri musori, the aver).
Kana šunahas amaro materialos, sas amenge but mište, kaj o giľa save iľam andre buterval, chudle nevo
koncepto soske prekal o neve lava. Kamas te sikavel kada faktos andre giľengri traskripcija u sikavas o lava
andal e konkretno giľi save šunďam andre buteder lokaliti, pre aver sera sikavas the kala lava save šunďam
ča andre jekh lokalita. E lokalita hiňi skirimen tel o giľengre lava.
O halgato giľa pen šunen, nakhelel pes pre lende. Giľengre lava hine but importantna, the kada so
avriphenen hino but importantno (zoralo). Varekana kale giľen sas but lava. Oda sas giľade dživipnas-kre
paramisa. Sako giľavno giľavelas pal o peskro dživipen. Giľenca pes arakhelas o drom andal o konfliktos,
phuterdes pes vakerelas pal o buťa so sas phares te phenel avre dromeha. Kadi funkcia polokes našľol, andro
halgato imare nane ajci but aktualna lava the improvizacija. Zoraleder pes kada dikhel maškar o vlachika
Roma, save sas phirde (nomada) u ľikerde peske but puraňipena. The te giľi pes na giľavel pal o konkretno
giľavno o manuš savo la giľavel, andre thovel vareso so pes leske ačhiľas, butvar vareso dukhado u e giľi
chudel personalno moľipen.
Butervar kana giľavenas o interpreta sas but emocionalna, chudle te gindinel pal koda, so sas, te rovel,
varekana rovenas the o manuša, so len šunenas. The amenge na sas sa jekh. Exaktno vaš koda personalno
charakteros savo hin andro lamentaciji, na sa lokhi buťi te chudel le manušengro pačaben te phundraven
amenge kadi intimno sfera andro lengro dživipen. Varekana o manuša chudle te giľavel kheľibnaskre giľa,
čardaša. Oda sas lokheder. Ča pal o varesavo vakt sas mukhle u chudle te giľavel the halgató. Varekana
amenge phende pal peskro dživipen. Olestar mek buteder dikhas pro giľa so iľam sar pro vareso so but mol
the kada baro moľipen das dureder. Tumenge.
Kala lava šaj na chudena but intereso svorendar, no e muzikalno sera andro dukhade giľa hini lengro
kotor, sajekh sar savoro aver.
Le giľen hin naregularno, parlandovo ritmo. Našťi len te čhinas andro takti, ča andro frazi. Andre
transkripcija jekh fraza hiňi ekvivalentno jekha linijake. Lengro numero hino khatar štar (nekbuter exampla)
dži o ochto. E giľengri forma andre nekbuter giľa hiňi naperiodicko ABCD. Arakhľam the o formi
ABCDC1E, ABA1CDEFG, ABCDEF, ABCDC1, AA1BC, ABCDE. Varesave giľendar save thoďam maškar o
giľa štare linijenca šaj aven dikhle sar giľa butere linijenca. Maškar e fraza hiňi cikňi kadencija, savi kerel
jekha frazatar duj. Te hin avka našťi pes te phenel exaktno keci hine frazi andre giľi.
O frazakre melodiji vaj džan tele, vaj upre u pal kodo peren tele, nane but melodiji save džan ča upre.
Sako jekh fraza agorinel andro jekh džindžardo tonos, buterval dekorimen emfazaha savi hiňi štarto
kotoreha teleder u angle the pal koda hiňi džindžarďi pauza – dramaticko pauza, andre savi e melodija
agorisarel. Jekhto fraza andre giľi chudel varesave sig tonenca, save andre komparacija le melodijaha savi
džal dureder, pen sikaven sar siďarde. Varekana – sikra parude – hine giľade the andre trito fraza, ča džan
but lokheder. Kana pes e giľi chudel te giľavel, e melodia siďarel. O churde toni prastan u ačhen andro lungo
agorutno tonos andre jekhto kandencija. Pal koda o frazi džan lokheder, no ľikeren e tenzia, savi sas chudľi
16
andre jekhto fraza. Pro agor e giľi na džal avka sig, buterval džal but lokhes u agorinel andre agorutňi
kadencija. O agorutno tonos andre nekhzoraleder kadencija majbut hiňi kvinta, varekana sekunca, kvarta,
tonika vaj oktava.
But zoralo hino giľavipen, savestar pes našťi te kerel transkripcija kana na šunas sar pes e giľi giľavel.
Hino charakteristicko pal e komplikovano fraza, cirdle toni, siďaripen, pauzi, o interpretos maškar e
melodija cirdel voďi. O interpretos del giľake zoralo šukariben. The te adaďives le giľen nane ajso zoralo
expresivno moľipen, o manuša so len giľaven andre thoven but emociji the variabilita. Jekh andal o
expresivna instrumenti hine melodicka dekoraciji – emfazi, natrili, glizandi the naexaktno intonacija.
Glizando pes majbut thovel sar e phurd maškar o duj majzorale toni, avka šaj te dikhas leskri hranica so duje
serendar, jekhvar džal teleder, no sar džal pro majzoralo tonos, šaj džal the opre.
Andro savore giľa hino agorutno tonos tonika. Sakovar džal anglal leste učeder 7. stupňos. Maj sakovar
hino jekhoro učeder 7. stupňos andre igisno giľli u sar pes diťhol, jekheha tonoha paruvel aiolsko tonina pre
harmonicko moll.
Intervaloskri diferencija loke giľengri hin 8–11 toni. Maj sakovar o učeder stupňos anglo agorutno tonos
buchľarel la giľakro ambitus o jepaš tonos. Varekana e džindžarďi tonengri pasaža pes lidžal sar recitacija.
Akor andre giľa e melodija chutel u barol la giľakri melodicko diferencija.
Le slabikengro sistemos hino tele mardo oleha, hoj andre giľi pes andre thoven vičiňibena jaj, de, di, hej,
mamo. Le vičiňiben andre giľi nane peskro stabilno than, thoven pes andre giľi pal e improvizacija, so del
šanca te paruvel e melodija, ritmos the o frazišagos. Varekana hino normalno hoj o vičiňiben tele marel, vaj
buchľarel the paruvel e melodija. No andro aver relaciji šaj o vičiňiben avel andro textos, pherarel o slabiki
andro lava pro la melodiakro džindžarďipen. Te pes andre ajsi relacija mukelas avri o vičiňiben, andre giľi
ačhelas čučo tonos, vaj duj toni pes giľavenas prekal e phurd sar jekh slabika. O vičiňibena hine atributi
andro tradično loke giľengro giľavipen, sar hin o halgatovi.
O giľa pes giľaven bi o bašaviben, vaj bašavel ča jekh lavutaris. Hin amen evidencija pal o giľavipen
butere hangenca, so hino kerdo avka vaš oda, hoj o halgatovos giľavel ča jekh dženo. Varekana pes paš leste
thovel te giľavel the dujto giľavno, no na giľavel igisno giľi, ča varesave melodijakre thana. Majbuter pes
giľaven dujhangy – terciji, sexty, oktavi.
La giľakri dinamika hiňi zoraľi u džal prekal jekh vaj duj phurda. E angluňi giľakri paria džal lokores,
paľis zoraľol e gradacija džal opre u paľis džal pele lokores. Ada proceso džal prekal igisno giľi jekhvar, vaj
prekal o duj frazi.
O Roma kokrkore phenen hoj kala giľa hine dukhade, vaj pal o čoripen. Maj zorale temi hine bibachtalo
kamľipen, lubipen, meriben, te merel pašo manuš, peskro navaľipen, dar pal o čhavore, pal o čhavore bi e
daj, bi o dad, čoripen, bokh, bertena. Buterval manuš tirinel hoj našunelas peskera dajora, le Devles u o
giľavno pes kija lende visaľol vičiňibenca: Joj Devla, joj mamo, dale. Buter pes arakhel the univerzalno
vičiňiben Čhavale Romale.
Kotengro skirimo romane giľengro (halgatovi) anel peha buter problemi. Hine andro nastabilno ritmo,
andre melodija nastabilno intonacija, glizandakre phurda maškar o majzorale toni, nažuže uštaripena,
variabilno melodicko ornamentika. Le kotengro skirimo hino paľis ča la giľakro načačikano gendalos.
Europakri notacija na džanel andre te chudel oda bašaviben the giľavepen komplexnones u džanel te
kerel notacija ča ole kotorenge, save gondoľinel hoj hine maj zorale.
Aver problemos hin oda sar pes dikhel le niposkri giľi. E giľi dikhas sar kisno produktos u kamas la
detainones te thovel andre europakri notacija, vaj dikhas pre late sar pro džido, variabilno komplexos so pes
paruvel andro melodijakre the andro ritmikane detaili u andre notacija pes thovel ča e melodicko schema, bi
o detaili.
Vaš oda hoj na kamas kaj amari genďi savi hiňi andro tumare vasta, te vakerel ča ki o na but odbornika,
kamas kaj la te lel andro vast normalno manuš, no te aven andre late skirimen normalno interpretacijakre
špecika.
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KO LAVENGERO IRIŇIPEN THE KO GIĽAVUTNO BAŠAVIBEN
Angluňipen pharibnaskere dukhade giľa – halgatovi – del buter vaj frimeder giľutno vakeriben (e
improvizacia). O giľardo giľavel sako giľi aver – pal peskro voďakro šuňiben andre akanutňipnaskro vakt –
vaš oda varekana o lava la giľakere mištes na šunďon, u paľis ko šunel vaj genel, mištes na achaľol, pal soste
džal andre odi giľi. Nane typicko perdal o Roma, kaj sar giľaven o čorikane giľa te gindinen pro lava pal soste
giľaven. O giľošis vaj e giľošňa aven andre varesavi kedva u o lava andral leste džan sar te korkore. Šaj pes
paľis ačhel, hoj o dženo giľavel ajse lava, vaj le gilutneskere kotora, save ajso dičhon, kaj na džan ke peste.
Varekana o giľošňa avenas andre bari ekspresivno kedva u lengero giľavipen dičholas sar roviben paš o
mochto. The odoj pes giľavel, sar te varesave lava na avri aven andral o avre. Butevar dži le giľošengere
dživipnaskere phenďipena andal o jilo amenge savoro avri phenenas. Angluňi hin e kedva ko giľavel u savi
kedva dela andal peste oleske, ko les šunel.
E Milena Hübschmannová irinel, kaj andre hindike giľutňa hin avresarutno phenďipen – „ras“ – so šaj
andre romaňi čhib phenen sar „čuľipen“. Hin oda varesavo jileskero avričuľipen, andre save šaj hine jekh paš
aver ajse lava, save ke peste na džan, kaj ča kampel, hoj len te jekhetaňarel andre odi „ras“ – „čuľipen“. The
andre indiciko giľutňi nane zoralo dine, sar gele jekh pal aver o lava u pal soste pes giľavel. Buter hin o
jileskero geľipen andre „raso“.
Giľengere lava hine romane manušikane (folklorike) giľutňa, u avka len kampel te achaľol. Sar pes o giľa
irinenas the thovnas andre slovačiko čhib (angličaňiko), peske phenďam, kaj pes irinena avka, sar sle giľade
(o lav pal o lav), kaj the te dičhon phare, vaš oda, kaj našaven peskero giľavipen (melodia the rytmus).
Varekana kerďam cikne averipena, phenas, o lavengero geľipen. Oda džalas pal o averipena la čhibakere. Paš
vajkeci lava thovas andre „zatvorka“ achaľibnaske lava.
O Roma thoven andre peskere pharipnaskere – čorikane – giľa aver čitra the kijathode, sar amen džanas
andre slovačiko manušikane (folklorike) giľa. Baro kamiben the o jileskero šuňiben thoven jekhetanaskre
lava – „čarav tri voďori“ vaj „čarav tre jakha“. Le meribnaskeri voďi andre giľi hin o kalo čirikloro. E kaľi farba
sakovar hin le lavenca jilo, vasta, jevend, gad, bala, muj, jakha, savi keren brigakeri kedva.
Andre varesave giľa pal o kamiben ke piraňi, vaj ko pirano pes arakhas avresaribnaha (ambivalencia).
Andro angluno kotor pes giľavel pal o baro kamiben, zoralo jilo u andro dujto kotor pal o na bajinďipen.
Ačhel pes, hoj anglune lava giľaven „kamav tut“ u jekhvar imar „na kamav tut“. Šaj ada avel o šuňibnaskere
čhinďipena, vaj the o na džaňipen le giľošeskero. Varekana pes – perdal o rytmus the keci literi kampel –
thovel anglo lava o anglolava na-, save visarel o avriphenďipen andre giľi.
But „phirdune“ lava the giľavipnaskere kotora hine andre buteder giľa. Phenďam peske, hoj len sakovar
daha avka, sar džan pal peste, vaš oda, kaj sakovar hine andre aver laveskro geľipen (kontekstos).
Andro romane giľa pes bi e ladž giľaven „džungale“ lava. Kampel te phenel, hoj o Roma kala lava
vakeren maškar peste u na len pes avka džungales sar andre slovačiko čhib. Pro „lubipen“, vaj pre „lubňi“
vaj pro „lubaris“ čačes aver lav sar džungalo nane. Phenas, kaj o džungale lava ča čačikano avri phenen, so
pes ačhiľas u hine andre sako folkloriko giľavipen.
Te o giľa, vaj o gileskere kotora, pes andre jehk giľi giľavel mek jekvar, andre iriňipen amen na thovas o
jekhvareko sikavibena.
Sar kerahas o iriňipen ko giľavutno bašaviben (melodia), irinďam ča jekh „verzia“. Paš o bare aver
bašavibnaskere iriňipena ke odi jekh giľi, diňam the lakere averipena. O iriňipen ko giľavutno bašaviben
hino thodo ko jekhte lava la giľakere. Šaj pes ačhel, hoj aver lava hin buter vaj frimeder litera sar jekhten u
na džana ke peste le iriňipnaha. Vaš oda te vareko kamela peske te giľavel varesavi giľi, kampela leske sikra
avri te avri gindinel (kerel e improvizacia). Vaj peske but toni (melodia) te giľavel, sar hin buter literi, vaj
vajkeci toni te thovel jekhetane, perdal o literi. Phenďipena anglal o noti den načačo geľipen pro angluno
tonos, butervar telunestar, varekana the uprunestar – butervar pes avka giľavel. E „glizando“ maškar o duj
noti hin, hoj te džas tele jekhe tonestar pre aver.
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PRO AGOR SIKRA PAŤIV SAVORENGE, SO BI LENGRO ADI GENĎI
NADIKHĽAHAS LA LUMAKRO VUDUD
Phenďom peske, hoj andre adi genďi skirinava ole manušengre nava, so prekal adi genďi kerde peskri
buťi. Ča darav, te nabisterav pre varekaste. Te pes ada ačhela, mangav tumen omukhen mange. Paľikerav
savore manušenge andro romane gava (osadi), so amenge achaľonas u šigitinde amenge te kerel prekal
amende pozitivno situacija, the prekal o romane giľa, savorenge so amenca phirkernas:
Lengre nava hine:
Erika Šarišská Žehňatar, Mária Gáborová Varhaňovcatar, Soňa Balogová Žehňatar, Agáta Holubová,
Agáta Horváthová a Júlia Červeňáková Siňatar, Magda Miková pal e Poštarka, Karol Sivák zo Zborovatar,
e fameľija Šivákovcakri Zborovatar, Milan Miko Petrovatar, Marinka Holubová the e fameľija Žigaskri
Markušovcatar, Božena Pačanová – Nemci, Pavlína Kandráčová a Ružena Dunková Bystranendar, Viera
Dunková a Béla Pokuta Žehratar, Kveta Berkyová a Adolfína Horváthová Rudňanendar, o Kotlárovci
Sňinatar, Eva Bíla z Ubľatar, Monika Gunárová Klenovatar, Zdeno Pecha andal o Spišska Tomašovce,
František a Martina Ďuďovci Soľatar, Eugen Tokár a Zuzana Zajacová – Duda z Čemernatar, Juraj Ovšak –
Guba a Jozef Krok-Česlak Zamutovostar, Helena Ferancová andal e Rudlova, Helena Červeňáková
Vechcostar, Eduard Fako andal o Sedliski, Doda Polhošová Bara Lomňicatar, o rom la romňaha Polákovci a
Žigovci Dinďarďa Strážovatar, Michal Kaššo pal e Podskalka, o rom la romňaha Pechovci z Janoviec.
The savorenge, savorenge so giľavenas, le džuvľenge, muršenge, čhavorenge, savore fameľijenge so amen
vičinde ke peste khere.
Paľikerav savorenge so manca jekhetane rodenas o romane giľa, the so manca jekhetane phirenas:
Lengre nava hine:
Jana Michalová, Táňa Šulíková, Lucia Michoňková, Martin Balogh, Štefan Kotrec, Mária Oláhová,
Tibor Hujdič, Ľuba Sajkalová, Ivan Tokoly, Jaroslav Beliš, maj buter e Zuzana Mojžišová (ďivesutne skirima),
Daniela Rusnoková (foto), mire lačhe manušenge so manca phirenas, the šigitinenas.
Martin Balogh, Helena Mitrášová, Mária Oláhová, a Ivan Tokoly miri paťiv vaš oda so šigitinenas te
skirinel o giľa.
Paľikerav le rašajenge, the savore manušenge, so andre lokaliti kaj samas keren buťi prekal o Roma:
Martinovi Mekelovi Varhaňovcatar, Petrovi Bessenyimu Bartvatar – pal e Poštárka, Martine
Temkovitzovej Siňatar, the avre manušenge.
Paľikerav savore amalenge, so mange denas motivacija akor, sar imar na paťavas hoj amari buťi ela mište
agorimen.
Paľikerav le Milaniske Čičeloske, vaš leskri motivacija ki e adi buťi, hoj iľas avri jekh but lačho inzeratos
andalo nevipena.
Paľikerav: le OZ Media 3, hoj kerďas lačho than prekal le projektoskri realizacija Phurikane giľa.
Paľikerav le Petroske Michoňkoske, le Michalovcenge the Sajkalovcenge hoj šigitinde sar kampľas te
prebašavel o minidiski, the prelabarel buťakre diski.
Paľikerav mire romeske, the le čhavorenge, kaj len sas tirišagos, vaš lengri tolerancija, the šigitišagos paš
o buťakre droma the vaš oda kaj na sas man vakt perdal lende, the vaš amare vurdoneskri sistematicko
likvidacija.
Paľikerav savore romenge the romňijenge, so mukhle peskere romňijen manca. Mire romeske le
Jaroslavoske Beliš – Beloveske, but paľikerav vaš but lačhi inšpiracija, vaš o šukar ilustraciji andre genďi.
Paľikerav olenge so e genďi thode andre romaňi čhib. Oda hine e Mária Nováková, Marián Gazdík,
Daniela Olejárová, Martin Balogh, Dr. František Godla, the le čhibakre redaktorenge save sas e Zuzana
Mojžišová, Gail Ollsson, Milan Godla, a Daniela Šilanová vaš lengri buťi andro but charne vakti.
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20
Jana BELIŠOVÁ
A FEW WORDS ABOUT
THE ORIGIN AND PURPOSE
OF THIS BOOK
I have been involved with Romany music for more than fourteen years, interrupted by short and long
breaks. It began in my childhood although I did not realise it. I used to spend summer holidays at my
grandma’s in the village of Žehňa, close to Prešov. In Žehňa, there is also a Romany camp, Hurka. That
means a small hill (a camp on the hill behind the village) or a pork and peeled–barley sausage. Fantastic
music and songs echoed from Hurka each night. Secretly, I played with Romany friends. That had to be my
secret, otherwise my calm and gentle grandmother would become furious. Friendship with Romany children
was considered as equally wrong as friendship with a flock of hooligans. Though I have a different viewpoint
now I did not analyse that restriction during my childhood. After returning from my Romany holidays spent
with tanned friends my mother never appreciated my lousy, long hair.
Well, it all originates at that time and place. I was fascinated by the song extracts Romany children used
to sing. Their singing was very sincere and came from the bottom of their hearts. My grandma is not alive
anymore and I continue visiting Romany camps more than ever before. Among other reasons, authentic
Romany music is the purpose of my visits.
Before writing this book I set off on a few expeditions. This time a group of people always accompanied
me. Social work students from the Department of Romany Culture in Nitra, non-traditional students of
social work who are also adoptive mothers of Romany children from Bratislava, a writer and a scriptwriter,
a Romany activist, a photographer, an artist (my colleague, husband and an artist in one person). The whole
purpose of our pilgrimage is hidden in two words: phurikane giľa – ancient songs.
We harvested not only songs, but many rich experiences, as well. We were so deeply moved that we
decided to publish our feelings along with the songs. After all, the songs were (or were not) always attached
to impressions and experiences. Plenty of thoughts and emotions overtook the original idea of a pure
songbook and it was enriched with our diary or travelogue. Zuzana Mojžišová began to spontaneously write
her first diary after a winter expedition in the Spiš region. It was such an interesting piece of writing that it
inspired us to map out all of our journeys day by day. Jana Belišová describes our wanderings in the camps
in the areas of Prešov and Bardejov. Zuzana Mojžišová did the same for our last three expeditions in the areas
of Spišská Nová Ves and Snina.
Some people throw away a fortune in order to take a so-called ‘exotic holiday’. However, they do not
realise that the ‘exotica’ they fly away to find in Africa or America is located right in the heart of Europe only
a few steps beyond their doors. Once, after looking at aerial shots of the camp of Jarovnice, my friend could
not believe that such a place lies in Slovakia. And after listening to the stories about dirty children living in
dilapidated houses with hardened soil for a floor, I was accused of exaggeration. Desiring the spirit of Africa
or India? Then you are welcome to visit a forbidden country with me.
A FEW WORDS ABOUT ROMANY SONGS-ESPECIALLY THE OLD ONES
The Romany people always lived at the edge of society and, therefore, in the past their unquestionable
musical abilities were perceived wrongly or even degraded. Their natural talent was generally attacked using
the argument that stated that their repetitive approach lacked any creativity. This viewpoint of Romany
musicians may have been widely spread due to the fact that few defenders of that opinion took the
opportunity to experience authentic Romany folklore. Generally, the Romany bands that played requests in
public cafés or at wedding parties were considered to be genuine Romany music. Romany bands adjusted
their repertoire to the demands of the majority society because it was expected and they usually played the
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listeners’ favourite songs. Bands interpreted only a few chosen pieces that represented Romany music and
combined dance adaptations with the majority society’s folk songs or composed popular songs. These bands
did not usually play for themselves, but for non-Romany audiences.
Authentic Romany music must be examined in its natural surrounding of Romany communities where
Romany songs are interpreted, stripped bare of any arrangement for an audience. Traditional Romany
communities keep their songs alive, because songs and music are a natural part of their lives serving as a
catharsis, a joy and pain valve, as well. Music enables intense emotions to be naturally relieved and float
away. It is said that Romany people are good musicians. Discussion might arise about whether their musical
talent and attitude towards music are a genetic condition or if they are based on the influence of their
surroundings. By the way, Slovaks are also said to be ‘a singing nation’, but one will hardly find any real
proof of this in everyday life. The present status of Romany folk songs demonstrate that as the way of life
changes, the Romany passion for music may evaporate and Romany music may gradually disappear. The
ancient layers of Romany music have already been dying away.
Pop music elements invade and noticeably change Romany folklore. Besides pop music, young people
listen to the radio or television. The Romany bands’ production methods are a significant influence, as well.
An easy technique of recording their music is widely used and this enables the music to spread unbelievably
quickly around the whole country. Therefore, one can listen to modern Romany songs in various parts of
Slovakia in the same period of time. The modern song layer is wide, rich, and changing. Songs of various
artistic qualities are born and then they fade away or are changed. Only a few of them survive and are
included in the stable Romany repertoire.
Presently, we can find three living layers of Romany songs:
1. Old songs (phurikane giľa)
– slow songs (halgato)
– dancing songs (čardaša)
2. Intermediate layer
3. New songs (neve giľa)
The layer of old songs, especially those slow ones called phurikane giľa, ancient songs, or corikane giľa,
mourning songs, or mulačagi, weeping songs, is in danger of vanishing. This layer was the target of our
research, which was more or less a rescue attempt. We lost a great deal of energy dusting off people’s
memories to recall these songs. We looked for elderly people due to the fact that young people hardly know
them. If they did know some songs, they usually did not comprehend their full meaning since they’ve not
had such experiences (and they may never have in the future) comparable to their parents’ and
grandparents’ hard, painful lives. The older generation, when asked to sing these songs, often made excuses
of being ill, exhausted or frustrated so that they were not able to sing. The idea that our research was worth
doing for the Romany people, themselves, gave us enough courage to continue in that type of musical
archaeology. We believe that the Romany hid a great deal of their history and treasure in these songs. At the
moment, they may not be able to evaluate them properly. In the future, however, it will bear fruit not only
for them.
The book, Phurikane Giľa, includes songs from six research expeditions completed by various crews in
37 Romany camps of Eastern Slovakia between August 2001 and May 2002. I, personally, did a part of this
research in a few villages from 1988–1995. Based on this valuable experience, I was able to observe thirteen
or fourteen years of evolution.
As in my earliest experiences, when I had enough time to build relationships with people in the camps,
collecting songs was as easy as it used to be. I used to arrive in a new camp in the company of a friend from
the previous camp. He would introduce me as his friend and immediately trust between both sides was
deeply anchored. I repeated my visit to the family and the amount of songs collected did not really matter.
However, the last expeditions were quite different. In the spirit of research, we needed to gather songs from
a wider area to get a better representation of the status of these ancient songs. The first impression of
affection or non-affection had to satisfy us.
In some camps we tried to use somebody’s recommendation or a contact person, but often without
success. Therefore, we preferred the company of a chatty Romany. Many times we just went blindly into a
camp. In a short while people would surround us and we explained to them who we were and the purpose
of our visit. It often took a long time before a key person would help us to break down or break into the
crowd. In our opinion, the women were more co-operative. They were the ones who managed the noisy mass
of people, found the right person, persuaded him or her not to be ashamed of their less than austere dwelling
and let us in. We met a few men who stood at the edge of the crowd who tactlessly questioned the sense of
our mission and speculated about money. We enjoyed working with young, single people, women and
22
children better. Elderly women with great knowledge of ancient songs were the most valuable. We
appreciated the women and young people who were willing to help us later with writing down and
translating the drafts of Romany texts into Slovak or guiding us into the next camp. Uncommunicative, men
kept their distance longer. If they decided to communicate they showed their superiority. A few older men
made a lot of fuss to show how busy and hardworking they were however false it looks in our time of high
unemployment.
We collected about 130 slow, mourning songs. Character and the interpretation of these songs explain
the impossible task of counting them precisely. Singers of mourning songs improvise a lot using standard
comparisons, as well as occasionally whole verses, lines or stanzas. And so there were times when we could
recognise an identical verse or line in different songs. Thus, the text cannot be the main criteria. Changes
and improvisation also influence the melody. The interpretation of a song may alter slightly, or even
significantly, especially when singers come from various regions. On the other hand, we met (in Svinia, for
example) singers who have a favourite melody template and use it with each song, only varying the texts.
Despite the fact that improvisation is one of the main features of interpreting halgato songs, recognition
of particular songs is possible. The form of some songs is so fixed that we noticed only small changes when
comparing various places and periods. Other songs were exclusively recorded in one place by one singer. For
that reason, it was important to list the name of each village where the song was recorded. Even so this
method of identification is not the most precise concerning situations and locations that are connected with
the songs. When a song had already been recorded many times we would stop the singers in the next camp
before they sang it again. Without our explanation that we already had that song, we would have had to
endlessly record the most renowned songs (e.g. Gypsy weeping Čhajori romaňi, songs Soven čhave soven, E kapura
pre man phandľi, Te me mamo adarik džav, Veša, veša churde veša, Phagle mange mri musori and others). While evaluating
the collection of materials, the discovery that the recorded songs often gained special meaning with a new
text, even though it may seem insignificant, surprised us positively. We have identified the verses of a specific
song, which was heard in more than one location, and we have tried to emphasise this fact in our records,
too. The name of each location is listed below the text.
Halgato songs are meant to be listened to, not danced to. The texts are extremely important, as well as
the value of their meaning. These songs normally have long texts similar to long stories. Each singer
modified the song text according to his own experience and fate. The songs worked as a means to solve
quarrels and to speak about troublesome topics in public. This function is slowly vanishing. There are not
as many halgato or as up-to-date verses as before. Improvising the text is not common anymore. This can be
seen more clearly with the Valach Romany, who migrated long ago, and hence the archaic elements of the
halgato were preserved. Even though the singer does not sing about his own fate, he still connects it with his
own, often painful, experiences and thus, the song gains personal meaning.
The singers often became very emotional; they began to tell their memories, which then made them cry.
Sometimes their listeners cried, too. And we also nearly had tears in our eyes. This truly personal feature of
mourning often caused a bit of communication difficulty. It was only after a longer period of time that the
Romany began to trust us and were able to show us an entirely personal part of their life. Sometimes singers
began to sing old, dance songs, merry csardases. Then it was much easier. They relaxed and were also ready
to begin with halgato more quickly. Sometimes we learned their whole life story. This makes the song
collection even more precious and deserving of careful handling in the future. In your hands, too.
The following lines might not be interesting for everybody. The musical side of mourning songs is an
inseparable part of them just like the others.
The songs have an irregular parlato rhythm. They are not divided into beats, but are separated into
phrases. One phrase is equal to one line. Usually, there are groups of four (most common) or eight phrases.
The majority of the song forms are non-periodical ABCD. We also found the forms ABCDC1E,
ABA1CDEFG, ABCDEF, ABCDC1, AA1BC, ABCDE. Some of the songs classified as four-lined could also
be considered as one with more lines. There can be a short measure in the middle of the phrase dividing it
into two parts and, therefore, it is not absolutely clear how many phrases are in the song.
A melodic phrase either descends or alternates, but rarely ascends. Each phrase ends with a long note
often enriched by a grace note and is generally preceded or followed by a long interval–a dramatic pause in
which the melody subsides. The first phrase in the song usually begins with a few quick notes, which give
the impression that they are accelerating when compared to the rest of the melody. Sometimes they
repeat–slowly–in the third phrase. The songs seem to hurry up at the beginning. Short notes run quickly and
relax only in the final long first cadence tone. The following phrases are more balanced, but still maintain
the tension created in the first phrase. The last part of a song is again relaxed, often slows down and softly
fades away in the final measure. The closing tone of the main stanza is usually a fifth, rarely a second, fourth,
23
tonic or octave.
A song’s interpretation is very expressive and impossible to analyse in written form unless a particular
singer has been heard. Complicated phrasing, cycling, accelerating, pausing and inhaling is typical and
especially charming in halgato songs. Despite that, a song’s value is not as strong nowadays. Singers keep
their interpretations very emotional and varied. Melodic ornaments such as grace notes, trills, blasts,
glissandos and imprecise intonation. A glissando is used mostly as a connection between two main tones and
in that case, its beginning and end can be detected very precisely. On the other hand, it occasionally
functions as the beginning of a particular tone. Then it is impossible to detect the original tone. This type
of beginning results in an oscillation of the tone’s pitch and sounds off-key, unclear and imprecise. A
glissando that bridges between two tones normally descends; if it poses as the beginning of the main tone it
could ascend, as well.
Raising the scale by a 7th precedes the ending tone of all the songs. It is often the only key change in the
whole song. This gives the impression that the only tone changes the major key into a harmonic minor.
A slow song’s interval ranges between 8 and 11 tones. In many cases, raising the key before the final tone
enlarges the song register by a half tone. Sometimes the long part of a tone is interpreted in a way that is
similar to a narrative. Then a melodic jump follows and it enlarges the whole song’s melodic register.
A regular number of syllables can be interjected with the words: jaj (yai), de, di, hej (hey), mamo.
Interjections have no exact placement in a song due to improvisation. This enables the melody, rhythm and
phrasing to change. Sometimes it is obvious that an interjection breaks or enlarges and varies the melody. In
other cases, an interjection works as a part of the text, completing the number of syllables needed in a line
to fit the basic melody. If the interjection were left out a hollow tone or two tones sung together as one
syllable would appear in a song. Interjections and exclamations are a traditional part of interpreting the slow
halgato songs.
The songs are sung either without any or with only one instrument accompaniment. We recorded only
rare cases of a chorus singing halgato, which can be explained by the fact that they are often sung by a lone
singer. If a second singer joins it usually occurs in a specific part but not for the whole song.
The most common dual chords are the following: thirds, sixths, and octaves.
The dynamism of a song is quite expressive, extending between one or two cycles. A song commences
softly and gets louder; the melody also increases in speed and calms down again. This movement happens
once during the whole song or during two complete cycles.
The Romany consider these songs to be mourning songs or songs about poverty. Main themes are the
following: unfortunate love, infidelity, dying and the death of a relative, illness, care of children, orphans,
poverty, malnutrition, imprisonment. Many times disobedience towards mother or God is the reason for the
ordeal and the singers call to them: Joj Devla (Oh, my God), joj mamo (Oh, my mother), dalke (Mommy). The
general term for the Romany people is Čhavale Romale (people, Romany).
Recording, in written form, new Romany halgato songs is strewn with many difficulties such as irregular
rhythm or, in the melody, imprecise intonation, glissandos, unclear beginnings and various melodic
ornaments. The result is then an imprecise and simplified description of the real acoustical song. The regular
European notational record is not capable of depicting this complex musical phenomenon. Owing to this
particular tradition only the important parts of the songs are written down.
The attitude towards folk songs is also troublesome. Either a song is perceived as a definite piece and,
therefore, one that must be precisely recorded within the possibilities of European notation or it is
comprehended as a living and ever-changing element, varying in melodic and rhythmic details and, as such,
only the melodic scheme, stripped of what are deemed insignificant details, is recorded.
We want this book to reach a wide range of readers. Hence, we have chosen the second option of
recording including most common interpretation specialities.
AND, FINALLY, I NEED TO THANK ALL THE PEOPLE WITHOUT
WHOM THIS BOOK WOULD NEVER EXIST
I decided to publish a complete list of people who helped me create this book. I am just afraid to say
that the list is really complete and I hope I did not forget anyone. If I have, please, forgive me.
I express many thanks to our willing guides and all the key people from the camps who understood our
efforts and helped us create a positive atmosphere which worked in our favour and also helped to collect the
songs:
24
Erika Šarišská from Žehňa, Mária Gáborová from Varhaňovce, Soňa Balogová from Žehňa, Agáta
Holubová, Agáta Horváthová and Júlia Červeňáková from Svinia, Magda Miková from Poštárka, Karol
Sivák from Zborov, the Sivák family from Zborov, Milan Mika from Petrova, Marinka Holubová and the
Žigo family from Markušovce, Božena Pačanová-Nemci, Pavlína Kandráčová and Ružena Dunková from
Bystrany, Viera Dunková and Béla Pokuta from Žehra, Kveta Berkyová and Adolfína Horváthová from
Rudňany, The Kotlárs from Snina, Eva Bila from Ubľa, Monika Gunarová from Klenová, Zdeno Pecha from
Spišské Tomášovce, František and Martina Ďuďa from Soľ, Eugen Tokár and Zuzana Zajacová-Ďuďa from
Čemerné, Juraj Ovšak-Guba and Jozef Kroka-Česlak from Zamutov, Helena Ferancová from Rudlov, Helena
Červeňáková from Vechec, Eduard Fako from Sedliská, Doda Polhošová from Veľká Lomnica, the Poláks
and Žigos from Dlhé Stráže, Michal Kaššo from Podskalka, the Pechas from Janovce.
And to all the singers–women, men and children–to all the families that welcomed us into their homes.
Moreover, I also thank all my co-researchers and co-travellers:
Jana Michalová, Táňa Šuliková, Lucia Michoňková, Martin Balogh, Štefan Kotrec, Mária Oláhová,
Tibor Hujdič, Ľuba Sajkalová, Ivan Tököly, Jaroslav Beliš and, most of all, Zuzana Mojžišová (diaries) and
Daniela Rusnoková (photographs) – my faithful helpers and co-travellers.
Many thanks to Martin Balogh, Helena Mitrášová, Mária Oláhová and Ivan Tököly for their help
rewriting songs.
I am grateful to the local ministers and to all the people who help the Romany people in the camps that
we visited: Martin Mekel from Varhaňovce, Peter Bessényi from Bardejov-Poštárka, Martina Temkovitzová
from Svinia and many others.
I am indebted to all my friends who kept encouraging me when I felt I would never meet the aimed for
target.
Many thanks to Milan Číčel who cut out an important advertisement from the newspaper and inspired
me again to continue this work.
Many thanks to the civil association, Media 3, for preparing the conditions for the completion of this
project, Phurikane Giľa, despite the fact that it is not in strict alignment with the association’s main mission
statement.
I am indebted to Peter Michoněk, the Michals and the Sajkals for their technical expertise in working
the minidisk recorder and replaying the disks.
I am grateful that my husband and children were patient, tolerant and helpful during my frequent work
trips when I wasn’t able to take care of them properly and when I constantly kept destroying our family car.
My thanks to the other women’s husbands that they did not mind their wives travelling with me.
I especially thank my husband, Jaroslav Beliš-Belo, for such creative inspiration and the marvellous
illustrations for this book.
My thanks to the translators and readers for their work completed in time for killer deadlines.
25
Jaj, de pro khoča man tuke mangav,
de odmukh mange, so me kerdžom.
De aľe ma dikh tu man, aľe dikh mre čhaven,
de bo čhave amaro dživipen.
Jana BELIŠOVÁ
SINGING AND SILENCE
As I write these lines I am sitting in the comfort of my study, there are geraniums blooming beyond the windows
and I am wondering how I can best capture what I experienced a few months ago. I decided, I don’t know how many
times I had already done so, to cross an invisible border, to violate again an undefined taboo and enter another, unknown
and clandestine, as well as enriching, world. Why do I enter this world? Because I have discovered people who give me
much, although they may not know it. I cross this line between us because I am curious and I want to understand why
this line is so distinct. The more I know about the Romanies the harder it is for me to grasp this. So, let us not make
things more complicated and let’s go on a visit.
(September 2001)
ON THE WAY TO PREŠOV
bout one month ago I went alone on a research trip. I visited old
Romany friends, I spent some time asking what was new with them
and I made some queries about where could I go. And apart from that, I,
of course, recorded a couple of interesting things.
This time there were four of us to wander around among the Romany
settlements: one Táňa, one Daňa and two Jana’s–one who will be called
Michalka and the other one is me. People sometimes confused Janka with
Danka, Táňa with Daňa, and some seemed suspicious because we have
such similar names. Throughout this journey each of us will have our own
reactions to what we will see.
Michalka, as a future social worker, will be irritated by the bad social
conditions in Romany settlements. She will appreciate hard working and
caring Romanies, and will fly into rage over the laziness and indifference
of others. She will experience shivers every time she sees children with
My grandmother’s old stone house is still standing in Žehňa.
runny noses and naked bottoms and there will be more than a few of
The four researchers in front of it (starting from the left):
Michalka, Táňa, Daňa, Jana.
them. She will not know whom to blame for the blank and dull looks of
the stoned young lads. Similarly, as with the rest of us, she will be
enchanted by Romany openness and the sincerity which will accompany
us in almost all of our visits. Michalka is like a new motor. She invents many bright ideas for solutions for situations
which are quite catastrophic, so sometimes I wonder why no one has already gotten these ideas. Time will show it is not
as easy as that. Romanies from settlements are quite peculiar folks. Years and centuries have only minimally changed
their way of life rather than the attempts of reformers with a capital R, not the least of whom was the Austrian empress,
Maria Theresia. For the most part the reformers were convinced that what they wanted to achieve was a good thing, but
some kinds of such ‘help’ were not quite successful. After all, it was also due to the majority population. The strategies
for solving social problems, which are quite successful among non-Romanies, simply do not work in a Romany
community or they work in a totally different way. First of all, it is important not just to know the Romanies well, but to
know them really well. Only then should one try to solve problems. Most importantly, one should try to solve what
bothers them and not only that which bothers us.
Táňa in ‘real’ life sews fairy tale clothes from small coloured patches of cloth. Soon colours and fabrics will fascinate
her. She will perceive multicoloured creations inside cottages made of the most unbelievable things. She will constantly
be torn between two extremes–social and artistic perceptions. Táňa will buy coloured pastel pencils and sheets of paper
and during the recordings she will improvise artistic and creative workshops with the children.
The youngest of us is Daňa, a student of documentary film at the Academy of Musical Arts (VŠMU). She will be
taking and taking photographs. She could take more, but photography is not a cheap hobby. Daňa is no beginner in the
Romany issue. As a high school student, she co-wrote an essay with a student from her class on the coexistence of nonRomanies with Romanies. They prepared a questionnaire on the willingness of their fellow students to accept Romanies
in various situations–as neighbours, fellow students, fellow passengers, citizens of this state. The work had a practical
aspect, as well: Daňa, along with the children’s choir Kvapôčky, raindrops, visited the so-called Bratislava ‘Pentagon’
building–a dilapidated block of flats, occuppied predominantly by Romanies. Drugs, alcohol addiction, prostitution,
jail, are part of the every day reality there. Why do they sing this song nearly everywhere?
A
29
Amare khera bare tičkendar
de dičhol andre baro čoripen.
Joj, nane love, nane love, bo som čoro,
jaj, nane love, bo som čoro,
de koruna na birinav.
Our house from long planks
seems to be very poor inside.
Alas, I have no money, have no money, ‘cause I’m poor,
alas, I have no money, ‘cause I’m poor,
the money I have will not be enough.
Mačo Kočibalo, Žehňa 1988; Rudo Husár, Abranovce 1995; Božena Gunárová, Klenová 2002;
Kroka, Zamutov 2002; Čemerné 2002
Probably none of us will ever easily forget travelling to Prešov (similar to all other journeys). In the car we feel
comfortable and are in a merry mood, although the weather is not very nice. Shortly before Levoča we feel some jerking
in the ‘intestines’ of the motor. Also, a gear lever is moving too quickly, and it is getting worse and worse. Four
passengers, of whom three are mothers of seven children all together. I better stop. It is dark outside. We are a little bit
helpless. We all take out our cell phones, our connection with the world. We try to think of which relative will be the
least worried over our fate and will be able to give us the most useful advice. We choose Daňa’s father. Her father is
sleeping. However, her mother is more than a good substitute. With a professional self-consciousness (who knows where
she got it from) in her voice, she sends us to the nearest petrol station and claims nothing will happen to us by the time
we get there.
When we enter the area of the Levoča petrol station, we have a fit of laughing from stress and exhaustion. When the
petrol station man looks questioningly at us,the other girls point to me saying she is the driver. Luckily, there is a car
repair service nearby. The car repairman checks the car and finds out that a homokinetical joint is broken. I extend my
technical vocabulary and since then I shock everyone with my deep mechanical knowledge. We arrive in Prešov as if by
miracle even before midnight and we sleep a sweet and deserved sleep.
(Sunday, September 23, 2001, Bratislava-Prešov)
ERIKA AND HARE KRISHNA
n the first day of our research we must willy-nilly deal with cars again. We have to take our car to the car service
and rent another one. Then we attack the local super market, buy some food and off we go to Žehňa. An old, stone
house inherited from my grandmother is still standing. It will be our home for a few days. However, in the damp and
chilly autumn weather it is cold and wet. We unpack our luggage and make a fire in the stove so that the walls are a bit
warm when we come back. We go to the neighbouring village, Abranovce, to see my long time friend and adviser, Erika
Husárová. I went without her and her advice to do my research only once. And the result was infamous: At that time, I
had an acquaintance in the village Tuhriná who raised cows and hens and sold milk, butter, and eggs to villagers. These
things were superb, homemade. She was willing to introduce me to a Romany settlement, so we went together. The
Romanies were open-minded and positively oriented, in speaking and in thinking. All right, I should come the next day
and they would be ready. My acquaintance–a lady with a loud voice–was organizing things, I just stood in the
background, smiling and nodding in agreement.
However, when I arrived at the settlement the next day, I
experienced an unbelievable coldness. Women standing by their stoves
turned their backs to me. Only the more sensitive souls offered me a look
instead of an answer. And their husbands? They were just playing cards
and absolutely ignored me. I did not understand anything. At last I
persuaded a group of young people. An assertive youngster asked for
some money to have a beer and then organized a group of girls. He did
not have to do that. They sang off-key. Tuhrina Romanies thought that if
they did a service for my acquaintance, she was required to do a service
for them and give them milk, cheese and eggs free of charge. However, my
acquaintance got angry, put her hands on her hips and with terrible
shouting threw them out of her yard. So it goes.
O
It’s better not to take a step without Erika.
Andalečku, nasvaľi som,
vičin ke man le dochtoris.
Le dochtoris, le primaris,
jaj, te phenlas, so man dukhal.
My dear Andal, I’m sick,
call a doctor for me.
A doctor, an experienced doctor,
alas, so that he tells me what’s hurting me.
Milan Horváth, Tuhriná 1994; Hermanovce 2002
32
Geľom mange ke pheňori,
chuďom mange me te roven.
Joj, bešľom mange tejle,
chuďom mange me te roven.
I went to my dear sister,
started crying,
Oh, I sat down
and started crying.
Ola Roma sa vakeren,
že me džanav te bašavel.
Jaj, de bešľom mange tejle,
te chuďom mange me te rovel.
The Romanies keep saying
how good I am at playing.
I sat down
and started crying.
Tuhriná 1994
Hoj, de pro cintiris bari brana,
hoj, de ma ľigen mri piraňa.
Jaj, de ma ľigen la mek Romale,
hoj de na sik avľom, na dikhľom, sovel.
There is a big gate in the cemetery,
don’t take my sweetheart there.
Alas, Romanies don’t take her there yet.
I came late, haven’t seen her, she’s sleeping.
So me mange le lovenca ,
hej, de te man nane o sasipen?
Jaj, de o but love razdživava,
jaj, de o sasipen arakhava.
Why should I care about money
when I lack health?
Alas, I’ll spend a lot of money,
alas, till I find health.
Tuhriná 1994
Our meeting after four years was full of warmth and sincerity. Since we last met, Erika had married and had a child.
Now she was pregnant again. About ten years ago she, along with her brother Rudolf, sang and we recorded a whole
collection of songs. They sang traditional Romany songs, as well as modern ones and Erika’s own songs. By the time of
her wedding she wrote her own songs. Some of them could not be discerned from authentic ancient songs. But in others
one could hear echoes of popular music. We called these songs, those that resembled ancient songs but were
undoubtedly new songs, neohalgato or neo-csardasz.
I mamo, mamo, so kerdžal?
Pre kas tu man te mukhľal?
Mukhľan, mukhľan tu man korkores.
So me čoro, čoro šaj kerav?
Naj, na, na....
Mommy, mommy, what did I do?
Who did you leave me with?
You left me, left me alone.
Poor me, poor me, what can I do?
Nay, na, na...
Soske, mamo, man mukhľal?
Me pal tute rovava.
Arakhľom me mange piraňa.
So me, čoro, Devla, kerava?
Naj, na, na...
Why did you leave me, mommy?
I will weep for you.
I found my beloved.
God, poor me, what will I do?
Nay, na, na...
Erika Husárová, Abranovce 1988, neohalgato
You would probably not even find the settlement near the village of Abranovce. You enter it through the gate of the
peasant manor house which was bought by Romanies. You would expect meadows and fields behind the house but
suddenly you happen upon another village–you are in a Romany settlement. Two rows of new, Romany buildings are
situated behind the back parts of the village houses. The new buildings are not cottages. They are stone-work white
cubes. Erika lives in the last of them. The ground rises in a steep angle so she is quite exhausted when she gets home.
Recently something new was built in the area of this village, directly in front of the Greek Catholich churc. A church
dedicated to Hare Krishna. About half a year later, one of its young, bald-headed monks happened to be just in front of
my Bratislava apartment. He offered a small pastry cooked by the monks themselves and expect some financial support.
I was given a visiting card and I wondered. Abranovce?
Abranovce Romanies say that the monks are very hard working. They built their church on the site of an old village
cottage. A tall stone wall circles around it so it looks quite inaccessible. The monks are generally young, silent and hard
working. They dedicate their time to gardening. They grow a lot of fruits and vegetables by themselves. Together with
Romanies and some non-Romany families they share the fate of this part of the village–life without water pipes.
They come to get water from a common well. Children, pregnant women, monks, they are all together hauling
buckets full of water. The Romanies tell us that the monks do not speak with the villagers much. But they speak with
them, the Romanies. We pass by the Hare Krishna church with Erika and she tells me about her small son. She changes
33
into a sadder topic. One year ago, she lost her child due to a miscarriage and now she is very scared that she will lose
this child. One cannot see that she is pregnant but she is already experiencing her motherhood very strongly.
Of course, we had to stop at the Erika’s parents, who bought a house in the village and now live among nonRomanies. A sincere woman, Erika’s mother, and her father welcome us. She is a dignified, well-groomed woman and he
is a kind, hard working man. Michalka’s first impression was as follows: “Small pale, blue house, to which other parts of
the building were attached as the needs of the family arose. Windows of all sizes and colours. On the threshold there are
smiling women. Through the kitchen we get to the living room and two adjacent rooms. We are struck by a plenitude of
colours: glittering orange, decorated with bits of curtains on the armchairs and on the sofa. On the beds and windows
are velvet cloths in sharp colours with distinct drawings of running horses and beautiful women. ‘That Russian woman
brings me that,’ the lady housekeeper explains proudly. There are rugs everywhere, maybe also several layers, they are
soft, clean and most of all in many colours.”
I confirm that rugs were also used on the walls and on the seat of the wooden toilet we all used after we drank a twolitre bottle of lemonade and much coffee.
Michalka continues: “In spite of repeated requests to sit down we keep on standing and look at large paintings on
the walls. Madonna with child. Christ with an open hand above the marital double-bed with canopy. It was painted by
Jarka, a small woman who looks older than she actually is due to missing teeth. In each corner of each room there is a
small altar with tiny statues and holy pictures. A TV set, permanently
switched on, is drowned in a sophisticated ‘wall’ made of artificial flowers.
But already Erika’s mother sits us down and she completes it with an
embrace, a touch on our hands or a long look into our eyes. Children are
coming home from school. One is sent to the shop and brings lemonade
and chips. We learn that not a single Romany in the village is
unemployed. In the meantime, someone switches on the tape-recorder
and we are listening to a special ‘rom-pop’ genre song. Children begin to
get excited but they are shy so they go to dance in the other room. Erika’s
brother, Rudo, joins them. They dance with great charm. We are
photographed with Erika’s mother, Alžbeta. Dignified, she is seated on
her flowered armchair looking like a queen. We spend a little more time
with fond memories and chatting.”
Mother Alžbeta, sitting in a dignified posture in her flowerpatterned armchairs, looks like a queen. Starting from the
left: the bride Jarka, Jana, Michalka, Alžbeta, Táňa.
Aj di romňi, miri romňi,
dukhal man miro jilo.
Jaj, ola mire churde čhave,
šukar ajse čhore.
Jaj, ola mire churde čhave,
ajdi sar šukar ajse čore.
My wife, my wife,
my heart is aching.
Alas, those little children of mine,
they are as sweet as they are poor.
Alas, those little children of mine,
they are as sweet as they are poor.
O Del, rovav, dalke rovav
pal ma, miro šero.
Kaj ola mire churde čhave
i de ajsi šukar, ajse čore.
Oh, God, I am crying, mom is crying
because of me, because of my head.
But those little children of mine,
they are as sweet as they are poor.
Rudo Husár, Abranovce 1995
Jaj, di me la igen kamav,
o jilo man dukhav.
Di na vaš oda avľom, kaj man pačiv te den,
jaj di či vaš oda avľom, di kaj man te chal te den.
I love her very much,
my heart is aching.
I didn’t come to be shown respect,
but I came to get something to eat.
Erika Husárová, Abranovce 1988
Kana maro cinav,
banges pre man dikhen.
De ma dikh pre man banges,
bo me les na chava.
When I cut bread
they look at me crossly.
Don’t look at me crossly
‘cause I’m not going to eat it.
Erika Husárová, Abranovce 1988
34
Di te me buči na kerava,
di o pridavki na chudava.
Jaj, di tu so chaňa di mire čhave,
jaj, de te me buči na kerava.
When I don’t work,
I won’t get allowances.
Alas, what will my children eat,
alas, when I don’t work?
Rudo Husár, Abranovce 1988
Erika makes a telephone call to some of her relatives in Varhaňovce in order to arrange a meeting. We say good-bye.
Then we get into the car and wave to a joyful group of children.
(Monday, September 24, 2001, Abranovce)
PAY WITH WHATEVER YOU WISH, JUST PAY
he first goal of our trip is to visit Marinka, a celebrated Romany singer of Romanian descent (the so called olašská
Romany) from Petrovany. In Petrovany, Romanies of Romanian origin (olašskí) live at one end of the village and at
the other end live Romanies of Slovak ethnicity. In the summer, when I was looking for Marinka, she was sick and
confined to bed in the hospital. A woman who spoke to us from the other side of Marinka’s fence claimed to be a
servant of Jesus. She tried to look like a very religious person and wanted to sing us some religious hymns. And what
a surprise? She wanted to be paid for that! Yes, people in this neighbourhood know her. She attends various religious
pilgrimages and events and is said to speak about God in a very interesting way.
Today is the fourth time that we have looked for a female singer. We have bad luck again with Marinka. We are
not sent to the hospital today, but to a house where there are several men in the yard playing cards. One of them
introduces himself and follows this with a ritual handshaking. Erika tries to translate into the Romany language why
are we here. It does not take a long time before a man comes. Yes, he says, they have a band; they usually play at a
variety of occasions in this area. They will play for us from the repertoire of Rinaldo Oláh or Karel Gott, whatever we
want. We explain that we are not recording an entertaining show for radio or television, but that we seek authentic,
ancient Romany songs so that people can see what beautiful music Romanies have.
It seems the Petrovany musicians do not understand us. A local leader wants to speak only with ‘the boss’ and takes
me a few steps away to speak with me privately. He tells me the amount of money for which they sing and play. I explain
to him that we have no money. He critically evaluates my clothes and admits that I am probably right. He asks me how
old we are, whether we are married and whether we could stay overnight, saying that we would make a deal somehow.
Only much later, when I communicate to the others the contents of my conversation with the man, do I understand
with what it was that we should have paid.
This time even the presence of our Romany friend, Erika, has not helped us. She is not of Romanian descent
(olasšká) so we better leave until we get other leads. One young man runs in order to catch us. He wants to apologise
or something like that. He says that if it depended on him we would make a deal, but his father will not retreat from
his stance, and could we come anyway. We are unyielding and decisive. We refuse his proposal and off we go.
Erika is dismayed and she is quite ashamed. The last time it was a lady servant of Jesus and now this... She probably
will not go with me to Petrovany anymore. We assure her that she has remains the same in our eyes, as she has always
been, as well as all other Romanies. As a matter of fact, there are various types of people behaving in many ways all
over the world.
T
(Monday, September 24, 2001, Petrovany)
POSSIBLY THE OLDEST ROMANY WOMAN
e do not give up; we continue on our journey to Varhaňovce. Varhaňovce has two settlements, as well–the upper
and lower settlement. Slovak Romanies live in both of them. At first, we go to the upper part where we already
know some people. A very old woman lives there. Eva Gáborová, at 92 years old, is the oldest Romany woman I have
ever met. Her relatives do not allow us to enter the house. The old woman is said to feel very bad.
Earlier in that very summer, the old woman was still quite alive. I was making a recording in an unbelievably nicely
decorated, beautiful room. We were even afraid of sitting down. Glittering sheets of a light, golden colour were wrinkled
where we sat on them. There were curtains glittering on the windows, statues of Virgin Mary, about one meter tall, were
installed underneath them. They were decorated and linked together with garlands of artificial flowers, which also
highlighted the curves of adjacent walls. The old woman spends all of her savings on the statues. They are brought to
her from the distant country of Italy.
Already in the summer the state of her health had probably begun to get worse. From time to time she had lapses
of rational judgement, as is common at such an old age. She felt anxiety when we took a picture of her. She feared
singing... She was afraid, but in a strange way. In fact, she was superstitious. She kept asking us whether anything would
happen to her. She wanted to sing about Jesus so I had to explain to her several times what songs I needed. From the
deepest part of her soul she sang us her favourite song.
W
35
She rocked and crossed her hands on her breasts with loud cries the whole
time she sang. It was harder and harder to understand the lyrics of the song. It was
as if the words began to lose their meaning. What was important was only the
feeling. At times, due to emotional stress and crying, the old woman sang so softly
that we could scarcely hear her. She sang part of the song in a Romany language
and part in a local eastern Slovak dialect, called Šariš. Towards the end, she mixed
the Slovak and Romany languages together in one verse. They say it was quite
common in the past that Romany songs were sung in the Slovak language. This
was preserved in the oldest songs. Sometimes it was merely a translation, but
sometimes the Slovak lyrics were even richer than the original Romany lyrics.
Romanies also sang their songs in Slovak due to the fact that they often played for
non-Romanies at weddings and at local dances.
Eva Gáborová, Varhaňovce: “God
always regards the poor as worthy.”
Kaskre ola duj čhavore,
so pro šancos peske bešen?
Aňi e daj, aňi o dad,
aňi žadno famiľija.
Whose children are those two
sitting in the ditch?
They don’t have a mother, nor a father,
nor any family?
Devla, Devla, so me kerdžom?
Le raje čhastar ladž me kerdžom.
Lačhe čhastar ladž me kerdžom,
de kudušiha svetos geľom.
God, oh God, what did I do?
A highborn boy brought dishonor upon me.
A good man brought dishonor upon me.
I travelled the world with a villain.
Bože, Bože, skaral ši me,
mladosc moja jag mi hiňe.
Hiňe, hiňe i zahiňe,
jak tot ľistek na dubiňe.
Oh God, Oh God, you’ve punished me.
My youth is wilting.
Is wilting, wilting and will wilt
like an oak growth’s leaves.
Mladosc moja jag mi hiňe,
ej, de mladosc moja i podoba,
jag mi hiňe jako voda.
My youth, oh how it is vanishing!
Aye, my youth and my appearance
oh, like water they vanish!
Hiňe, hiňe i zahiňe,
jako voda na Toriše.
It’s vanishing, vanishing, and will vanish
like Torysa’s waters.
Kedz ja umrem, co mi daju?
Košuľečku jemnušku.
Jaj, o Bože, co mam robic,
ked ja svojo dcezi ňemam.
When I die, what will I get?
A fine chemise.
Alas, God, what should I do
when I’ve no children of my own.
Ňič to zato, že ja čarna,
ňelapi ce žadna parba.
Že lapi ce na potom...
mam frajera zomretoho.
It doesn’t matter that I’m dark
no curse will get you.
Later it will get you...
my lover is dead...
Hiňe, hiňe i zahiňe
Laj la laj, la...
It’s vanishing, vanishing, and will vanish
Lay la lay, la...
Kedz ja umrem co mi dace?
Jednu rentu na mňe.
Jednu rentu na sebe,
mojo dzeci kolo mňe.
When I die what will I get?
A rag on me,
a rag around me,
my children will surround me.
Joj jojojoj.
Eva Gáborová, Varhaňovce 2001
38
Romany women, who were present with us during the recording and who also know many Romany songs, were very
touched since they had not heard this song. They claimed that it was really very old. From a mourning song, a sort of
good-bye to life, the old woman made an inconspicuous transition into a moralising sermon about Jesus. When she had
recovered a little bit from the sad song, her crying voice was transformed into a quick and brisk voice.
“I was ill. Not that I will feel better, but Jesus Christ, yes! I say only this. Here, in our village, there are two or three
of them who are so stubborn that they don’t want to approach the Lord God. But we want to live with the Lord God;
we want to remain with Our Lady and hide in her bosom. We want only this and nothing else.”
“We have a new parish priest. One left and this one came, but he is very good. He takes care of the sick, whether it
is clean or not, he will come. It doesn’t matter. The Lord God created us for one world. In God’s eyes the poor always
have value. So where the Lord, Christ... there the poor should... When I come to the church, the priest kisses my hands.
He says, ‘Very well, grandmother, you are young, you are not growing old.’ The Lord God created us, for us he suffered
on the cross. When they were nailing him to the cross a Romany stole a nail. That is why it is like this and now it is like
this. Because a Gypsy–a Bitank stole a nail, the Lord God punished him for that.”
The young parish priest visits grandmother Gáborová even in her very own house. He listens to her confession; he
listens to her stories. In the summer, he sometimes serves mass right in the upper settlement. Near the last house on the
hill in Varhaňovce stands a cross. There is enough space underneath it for everybody. In the settlement there is a small
chapel in front of one of the houses.
The grandmother sang us a second song, more joyful. She claimed it was a vlachiko song. At the end she started to
laugh, saying that it is ‘her mother’s song’. And then she laughed even more. She also sang when she drank some alcohol
and got a bit tipsy and was in a good mood.
The old woman survived two world wars. She does not clearly remember the Great War (1914–1918) since she was
only about five years old. But she remembers the second world war very well. At that time she was a widow with seven
children. One of her brothers was in a prison work camp, the other was killed in the war. She raised a small girl and her
sister looked after a small boy. She had a house that she had built with her late husband, but it was burned down by the
Germans. The Germans isolated ten Romany women who were forced to wash their laundry. Then the women were given
meat. They were afraid of the Germans. At the end of the war, the Russian soldiers came and the young Romanies fled
to the forest because they believed that these soldiers were the Germans again.
The elderly and mothers with children were not able to go; they were exhausted. So they waited in the settlement in
resignation. They were ready to die. In the morning it was revealed that the soldiers were Russian. Everyone experienced
great joy. The Russians brought them bread and a kind word–as grandmother Eva used to say. They were not afraid
anymore.
Merav, dale, merav,
ňič man na dukhal.
Joj, de rovel andre mande,
hej, de miro kalo jilo.
I’m dying, mommy, dying,
nothing is hurting me.
Oh, deep inside me is weeping,
hey, my black heart.
Te tu džanes na kames man,
soske tu man diliňardžal?!
Hej, de šaj tu mange smirom diňal,
de iľahas man mro pirano.
When you knew you didn’t love me,
why did you string me along?
You could have left me alone.
My dear would marry me.
Mirgi, Mirgi, mri piraňi,
so sal ajsi barikaňi?
Hej, de barikaňi le balenca
de le šukare piraňenca.
Mirgi, Mirgi, my dear,
why are you so proud?
With proud hair,
with handsome boyfriends.
Eva Gáborová, Varhaňovce 2001
So, that was a month ago and today we are not even allowed to enter Eva Gáborová’s place. This day is probably
doomed to failure. We stand here and there in the places between these houses; nothing is going on. Erika is totally at
ease, speaking with some acquaintances. We join the conversation, but we begin to get impatient. My fellow researchers
have not heard a single Romany song yet. So when will it happen? A young man with a guitar leaves a brick house.
Quickly, let’s catch him and ask him if he would be so kind as to possibly sing us some songs. The youngster grins saying
he is in a hurry to attend one of his friends’ birthday party. What if we went there? There will be some music. He
obviously does not mean it. He wants to get rid of us so he sings something right there, in the yard. I had scarcely taken
my recording discman out of the bag by the time the song was over and the youth was gone. Besides, it was not an
ancient, slow moving halgato.
Young people in Varhaňovce no longer know and sing these songs.
They have a good parish priest; they go to church where they sing holy hymns. They, themselves, compose them in
the tunes of ancient Romany melodies. They write the lyrics and also sometimes write the music. Michalka recollects:
“Tánička wipes little girls’ runny noses; a hairpin appears in dirty, yet curly hair. A little girl with a doll-the first and, for
a long time, the only toy in the child’s hands. If we do not count dogs and obviously ‘handmade’ carts on which little
boys drive down a local hill, we have not, as a matter of fact, seen any toys.”
39
But if we wish to get really old songs, we have to go to the lower settlement, to see this and that woman. Erika knows
which ones; Erika knows them. They are, in or way or another, her relatives.
So we do not forget to admire their brick houses. We greatly admire their domestic animals, even the cow and we
get into the car. The car (this time, it is not even mine!) does not want to move and instead, it rests in the sticky mud.
Press the gasoline pedal down, a few people standing around help us and...that’s it! A small crowd of children and dogs
run after us for a moment, then they are only waving at us.
The lower end of the settlement does not look like a settlement at all. It looks like a more chaotic continuation of
the non-Romany part of the village. Romanies presumably bought houses from peasants, but they lack the farmers’
experience of previous generations. Gardens are untidy and full of mud. Multicoloured laundry is drying on the fences
and on lines. So far there has not been a place without clothing and rugs on the fences. We enter someone’s property; it
is a strange feeling, but Erika encourages us. She walks before us as if in her own garden. A small crowd of children
accompanies us, as usual. In a shed some men are playing cards. They do not show interest in us. We go to the house of
Eta Žigová. She is not at home. She will probably be at her sister’s. Sister Ida is quite hot. She is cooking and baking
because she expects her daughter and grandchildren to come tomorrow.
She does not quite feel like singing, but she promises to sing with her sister, Eta (Etala), tomorrow. In an instant,
she walks into her house. In the meantime, Eta approaches us slowly and with a certain grace. She is quite different from
her sister. Ida is small, slim, lively and she likes to chat. Eta is big, slow, and serious; she has a deeply timbered voice and
a sad look in her eyes. She does not promise anything, but suggests that we come tomorrow afternoon.
So far I have met with attitudes of unwillingness and dislike towards singing. I ask myself–are the times changing?
People are tired, unemployed, depressed; they do not feel like singing. But all along the Romanies have had problems
earning their living and yet there has still been music. Moreover, it helped them in difficult times. Perhaps the problem
is that there are five of us. When I visited people by myself or with only one other person, people were more likely to
believe us. And Erika is tired, too. She should be more careful–the baby under her heart warns her. We leave without
many positive impressions. However, it is not the end of the world, after all.
(Monday, September 24, 2001, Varhaňovce)
DO NOT THROW ANYONE TO THE FIRE!
et one more day we have a set schedule due to our broken down car. It should have been repaired by now and that
is why we are heading for Prešov. But things develop differently than we have planned. The car will be ready around
noon. What will we do until then? The seat of the Romany newspaper, Romano nevo ľil, is in Prešov, we will go there. They
will surely know Romanies from this area and will give us some tips regarding those who are good singers.
There are nice people in the newspaper office. They make us
tea, go through directories, make some phone calls. We leave
with literature, newspapers, new contacts and, most importantly,
with the knowledge that it is good to be on the earth when there
are similar oases. We still need to make photocopies of
photographs for Erika and her sister-in-law, eat something in a
local restaurant, go to the car service and say good-bye Prešov.
This time we arrive in Varhaňovce without Erika, since they
already know us. However, things turn out differently from what
we had expected. Ida, who showed so much willingnes, does not
even leave the house. She just sends a message that she will not
sing, no way. Sad Etela does not feel like singing, either, but
since she promised something she wants to keep her word. She
invites us into her not too big house. She is an old spinster. In
the house she lives with her mum, Alžbeta Žigová, who is 77
Sad Etela does not feel like singing, but when she promises
years old. Alžbeta raised nine children. One daughter died when
something, she wants to keep her word.
she was 18 years old, another daughter when she was 9 years old.
She mentions that one of her sons lives in the Czech Republic
‘Láďo in Bohemia’. Her husband Ľudevít was a renowned musician; he was buried with a violin. Together, they built a
big eight-room house for two families. But they also built also an adjacent house–for themselves and for their daughter,
Etela.
Etela is now 48 years old and she is single. Why did she not marry? When she was young, small boys threw her into
the fire. She has burn scars all over her body. She had suitors, but was afraid that her husband would leave her alone
with the children. Today, she sees it in a different light, but it is too late now. My researchers finally experience their first
songs.
Y
40
Te me geľom andre karčma te pijel,
de zachudle man štar žandara te marel.
De ma maren man de žandarale, de bo dukhal,
hej, de hin man khere de churde čhave,
de mukhen man.
De ma maren man de žandarale, de bo dukhal,
hej, de hin man khere de o but čhave,
de mukhen man.
When I went to the pub to get a drink,
four cops grabbed me to give me a hit.
Don’t hit me, cops, it hurts,
I have little kids at home,
let me go.
Don’t hit me, cops, ‘cause it hurts,
I have at home lots of kids,
let me go.
Pal rov, oda, pal rov,
hej, de kas daj the dad nane,
hej, de mange najbareden,
de bo man nane ňiko.
Weep, weep,
that you have no mother nor father.
I have it the hardest,
‘cause I have no one.
Etela Žigová, Varhaňovce 2001; Abranovce 1995; Marinka Holubová, Markušovce 2001;
Béla Pokuta, Dreveník 2001; Dana Tišerová, Betlanovce 2002; Janovce 2002
“This one is nice!”
“Be careful, your gas stove is on.”
“Oh, really. I was heating my lunch and I forgot. Such a waste of gas.”
So hin učo oda svetos,
hej, de te merel, jaj, mušinav.
Hej, de te merel, jaj, mušinav,
hej, de ňič man Devla ňič na dukhal.
The world is so high,
hey, I have to die.
Hey, I have to die.
Hey, nothing hurts me, God, nothing.
Varhaňovce 2001
“And this one is even nicer,” Tánička is excited!
Two boys are approaching. Some people push the one in a sweater in front of the microphone. His voice has such
nice timbre and that tremolo! It is such a pity that he looks shy. He grasps his zipper with one hand and pushes it up
and down, up and down... When it is up, his head is almost lost under the collar. At that time, one can hear almost
nothing. When the zipper is pushed down, his voice flows out of his sweater like a little stream. The recording is good
for nothing and we ask the boy to sing something more. He repeats the same song. The women shout at him, “Not this
one! Another one!” He sings another song and then again the first one, until he is quite confused. The recording is not
good, anyway. It does not matter. We had a cute, lively concert. In the same way as his voice was unrecordable, so he
himself was unrecordable, as well. Roman Balogh, a small, energetic sliver, always moving... And all of his photographs
are blurred.
Dežo comes–the first violin player and the bandleader, Eta’s brother. He plays a guitar with only four strings, but
he plays as if not a single string were missing. He complains that his band has split up. There is no money for
instruments; there is no money for anything.
Nane love – I do not have any money. An idiom often mentioned in Romany songs.
Nane love, ňi gada – I do not have any money, nor any clothes. The part about clothes is already history. Today,
Romanies are nicely and cleanly dressed (at least we saw them nicely and cleanly dressed). We do not know if they have
good second hand shops in this area or if some charity brings them clothes. Deži tells us that they have all lost their jobs.
And how do they earn their living? They live on unemployment benefits and sometimes they can get some temporary
jobs. They have a lot of work in the households, too.
Jaj, de pro khoča man tuke mangav,
de odmukh mange, so me kerdžom.
De aľe ma dikh tu man, aľe dikh mre čhaven,
de bo čhave amaro dživipen.
I’m begging you on my knees
forgive me what I did to you.
Don’t look at me, but rather, think about our
children,
‘cause they are our life.
Etela a Dezider Žigovci, Varhaňovce 2001; Abranovce 1995; Janovce 2002
41
Joj, čori som, čori som,
čori man vičinen.
Joj, mek oda čoreder,
kas daj the dad nane.
Wretched I am, wretched I am,
wretched I am called.
Even more wretched you are
when you have no mother or father.
Kana maro čhinav,
banges pre man dikhes.
Hej, de ma dikh pre ma banges,
bo me les na čhinav.
When I cut bread,
you look at me crossly.
Hey, don’t look at me crossly,
‘cause I’ll not slice off a piece.
Alžbeta Žigová, Varhaňovce 2001
Dežo sang forty songs to a local teacher. She wants to publish them. We have
not managed to meet her. We ask about the parish priest. Although Dežo does not
attend services in the church, he says, “He is good. The one before him was also
good, but he won’t be here for a long time.” And why is that? “Well, he devotes
much of his time to Romanies. White people will mind that.” One would think
that local people would be glad when Romanies approach God and fill churches.
But it seems that prejudices also have their place in churches. (This one is not the
first one, nor the last one.)
The mood is fading away. It was not great fun, anyway. Eta keeps on saying
that it’s not as good as it should be, that she doesn’t feel like singing, that she has
no companion for singing. We even brought some spirits and cigarettes, as well.
It helps a litle, Deži especially greatly appreciates our gifts, but miracles are not
happening. We ask her whether we can come some other time. Eta and her mother
will remember some other songs, even the mood will be different. We are confused
by the decisiveness with which this melancholy woman says no. “I sang for you,
girls, because Erika asked me to. But do not come to us anymore. I will not sing.”
Did we cause them suffering? If so, we did not see it. Our thanks are even more
sincere.
It is evening, dark. Although we are tired we ring at the parish. The young
priest’s wife opens the door; she is a pharmacist in Prešov. The priest, Martin
Alžbeta buried two of her daughters.
Mekel, still nearly a boy, comes. He began to learn about Romanies at seminary.
He used to visit Jarovnice. He knew he would want to work with Romanies and he
was glad that there were so many of them in Varhaňovce. The priest’s wife gives
us some tea. A large bar of chocolate appears on the table. It disappears in a moment. Martin suggests a local woodcarver, Jonuf Kolejla, and his son Martin, called Benda. We write down some names from Jarovnice, although in
actuality, we only make it to all of the possible places, just not where we had planned to go.
Martin stands up and goes to the church. He has a meeting with Romany youths. We talk with his wife for a while.
She is visibly glad that she has someone to talk to. She does not know anyone in Varhaňovce. All day she is at the
pharmacy and when she comes home her husband has many activities. She feels a little bit alone and lost, but perhaps
she will adjust to it. And now she is looking forward to the arrival of their baby.
We all go to the church. It is dark now. We ascend to the priest’s garden. We cannot even see lights through the thick
woods, but we can orient ourselves by following our ears. The singing can
be heard far away from the church. We enter the church. There are
beautiful icons on the walls. All eyes look at us. Martin introduces us; we
know some of them. We met in the upper settlement. Now nobody
wanted to sing, but look. You should hear it! Mária Gáborová, the priest’s
‘right hand’, has composed a new song and everybody is learning it now.
It has Romany lyrics about God and even the tune is in Romany style.
Mária’s daughter studies in Košice at the Romany Artistic School, a
Romany conservatory. She sits in the front and plays the guitar. We learn
the song along with others. It does not seem difficult, but we do not
remember anything the next day. And then they sing everything that they
know. Nice, well dressed, pleasantly smelling people. The girls sit mainly
in the front, boys sit at the sides. We hardly know whether they come here
because of God or because the boys can accompany their favourite girls
home. But they sing as if they will soon die. When they sang the words,
The priest Martin Mekel from Varhaňovce,
“And the hill would be moved!” for a moment I was able to believe that
still nearly a boy, amidst Romany youth.
this song had the power to move the whole church.
“Brilliant, at last something good–and maybe the best for a long
time,” Michalka would later write.
(Tuesday, September 25, 2001, Varhaňovce)
42
WHERE THE SVINKA STREAM FLOWS
ach of us has heard something about Svinia. In the year 1999 it became sadly infamous. Floods, dead children. There
were more victims of floods in the nearby village of Jarovnice, but Svinia paid cruel taxes to nature, too. We park
the car not far from the settlement.
I have already once been a witness to a situation when we get into our cars (much better than we have now) right
in the centre of the greatest poverty that can be found in the far neighbourhood. We got out of the car, a group of clean,
well-dressed people. Carefully, trying not to get dirty, we walked around the settlement, listened to some sighing and
some angry voices. For a moment we expressed our sympathy with foreign fates and then we got into our metal vehicles
again and rode away. It seems, though, that such situations are normal for the inhabitants of the settlement. (Three more
groups of visitors will come. A car from Austria, a small van from the Netherlands and guests from Habitat.) We
approach the settlement walking. Romanies in Svinia are used to this state, that people come, look around and go. All
of them promise something, some of them fulfil some of their promises. Sometimes they bring Romanies earrings or
some slightly worn out clothes. Even today, when we go to have a lunch in the village, someone manages to give them
cheap jewelry.
The settlement in Svinia is radically different from what we know from Abranovce, Žehňa, Petrovany, or from
Varhaňovce. Right at the beginning of the settlement a large wooden cross welcomes us. It was made by Deži Bily after
the floods so that people will not forget. We have seen, and we will see, many crosses and chapels in Romany settlements.
Several half-naked and coughing children accompany us from a small bridge built over the dirty and polluted
stream, Svinka. So far we have seen clean, dignified people although they are poor. In these conditions in Svinia, they
begin to lose even their dignity. The centre of the settlement consists of concrete blocks of flats already built before the
floods. The line on the wall shows how high the level of water was during the flood. Only the blocks of flats survived
the water’s assault. Fragile cottages were swept away by water to God only knows where.
The catastrophic situation attracted the interest of Slovak and foreign charity organisations. People from the
Netherlands built small, prefabricated housing units, toilettes and a workshop for processing wood. In the settlement
there is even a small shop with wooden clubs, textile bags, as well as a second hand shop for children. Since the small
housing units could not meet the needs of the settlement, new cottages began to appear. These are even more fragile than
those before, since these were built in a hurry, as if it were an emergency.
Mud and dogs are everywhere. One of them looks a little bit like the hound of the Baskervilles. Large and black, I
even think it is cross-bred with a bear. We wonder why they have so many dogs when sometimes they have nothing to
eat. One woman hesitatingly, as if she is looking for the right words, tells
me, “Because even a dog has a soul.” To my simple-minded question as to
whether they eat dogs, she replies with consternation, “How could we.
Even a dog is just such... such... a man.” For a long time I try to find out
which Romanies are, in fact, the so called dupki, which means unclean,
those who eat dogs and cats. It always appears that dupki are ‘the others’.
And when I try to find out among ‘the others’ who are dupki, I am told
that the first ones I spoke with are. So I begin to think that all of them are
dupki or to put it more precisely, that no one is dupki.
Ignác Červeňák is the first man in the settlement. He approaches us,
large and dignified, in a khaki coloured shirt. One can see the richly
wrought tattoo on his hairy chest. He is extremely well built; his badge
with the words ‘Public Guard’ creates confidence. He is quite willing. He
himself wants to play for us. It would certainly be interesting, but we seek
ancient songs and Ignác is a devoted rap fan. Maybe another time.
Hefty Júlia sings her halgato as if she is building
But by that time, noisy Júlia Červeňáková, Ignác’s mum, is already
a castle from blocks.
approaching us. A strange and distinct figure, she welcomes us cordially.
She has confused us with someone else. It would be too difficult to
explain this mistake and so we accept this substitution. She calls the older women. They argue about where they will take
us. Obviously, they do not want to take us to the place of greatest poverty. They will sing outside, but we need a small
table where we can put our recording discman and a microphone. When the batteries go out it is good to have an
electrical outlet nearby. We wander from house to house and finally we settle on the flat of Agáta Holubová.
This family has just prepared lunch. They threw the potato skins right onto the floor. When we enter, one girl
immediately jumps up and sweeps them away. They quickly adjust the pillows and sheets on the bed and ask us to sit
down. It is silly. It always ends up like this: we sit and the hosts stand. Honour is honour. If we do not sit down, we will
offend our hosts. A young Romany girl, one of the pretty daughters of the still pretty landlady, continues to cook the
lunch. Her mother joins the older women. They make a group around us and sing. At first it is gentle Agáta with a sad
look and a soft voice. She is a little bit shy. Later, we learn that her daughter has a child that is physically handicapped.
One of its siblings hit it on the head when it was small. They show us a small, deformed head with the hope that they
will be the ones who will receive the packages with clothes that everyone wants from us. And we do not know where to
look. We do not even know whether we will manage to send any package at all.
E
43
Joj, dajori mirori,
joj, či me na som tiri?
Joj, či ča odi tiri,
joj, so paš tute hiňi?
Oh, my dearest mother,
oh, don’t I belong to you?
Oh, is only the one yours
that stayed beside you?
Joj, dajori mirori,
joj, o šero man dukhal.
Joj, o šero man dukhal,
joj, na džanav sostar.
Oh, my dearest mother,
oh, my head is aching,
Oh, my head is aching,
oh, without knowing what for.
Joj, mamo miri, mamo,
joj, so džanav te kerel?
Joj, so džanav te kerel,
joj, te man ňiko nane?
Oh, my mother, mother,
oh, what shall I do?
Oh, what shall I do
oh, when I have no one?
Joj, te man ňiko nane,
joj, ča me som korkori.
Joj, ča me som korkori,
joj, sar čhindo kaštoro.
Oh, but I have no one,
oh, I’m the only one,
Oh, I’m the only one
like a cut-off twig.
Agáta Horváthová, Svinia 2001
Júlia, with a red, flowered scarf around her neck and red hair, easily moves to the front. Any time she can, she sings
and speaks. When she sings she sits on her heels, her hands touch my knees and her face is close to mine. She looks into
my eyes the whole time, the need for closeness. Songs are more than fun. Songs are life.
Churde veša
u maškaral o cintiris.
Bešel ode mri dajori,
sako rovel kaj mri dajori.
Small woods,
cemetery in their midst.
My mother is sitting there.
Everybody’s been crying where my mother has been.
Churde veša
u maškaral o cintiris,
bešel ode mri dajori.
Rovel, Devla, sako, Devla, pre late,
churde veša, avka roven, Devla,
mri daj, Devla, jaj Devlale, rovel.
Small woods,
cemetery in their midst.
My mother is sitting there.
All crying for her, God,
small woods crying, God.
My mother’s crying, God, dear God, crying.
Churde veša
u maškaral o cintiris,
bešel odaj mri phuri daj,
avka Devla ode rovel sako.
Small woods,
cemetery in their midst.
My grandmother is sitting there.
So, God, everyone is crying there.
Mri phuri daj, avka, Devla,
so, čorori, de kerenas?
Muľas amenge mro dadoro,
kaj nane amen ňiko,
šunes, mri daj, kaj te muľa,
rovas, Devla, sako, Devla, pal late.
My grandmother, God,
what shall the poor woman do?
Our father, he has died,
we do not have anyone.
Do you hear, mama? He is dead.
We are all crying, oh God, for her.
Ma roven, čhavale,
bo me, the me, Devla, rovav.
Avka rovav, kaj amen nane ňiko,
avka, Devla, joj avka, pal mri dajori.
Do not cry my children,
‘cause I, God, I’m crying with you, too.
I’m crying so much that we have no one,
so much, oh God, crying so much for my dear
mother.
Rovas, Devla, mre čhavore,
avka Devla, Devlore.
Children, let us cry, oh God,
so God, dear God...
Da da dada da jo jo joj...
avka, Devla, joj, de rovas.
Dadada yo, yo, yoi,
such, God, yoi, is our weeping.
44
Ma roven, de Devla, mre čhavale,
mri phuri daj avka, Devlale, rovel.
Do not cry, my children, oh God,
such is my grandma’s weeping, oh God.
Avka rovas, avka dikhas,
pre oblačkica, kaj te avel,
jaj, phare jileha me dikhav,
mro dadoro, de, pal ma rovel.
Such is our weeping, God, while looking
through the window, waiting for her to come.
Oh, with a heavy heart I watch
my father crying beside me.
Savore pheňa, de, rovas,
avka, Devla, de, me, Devla,
the me rovav.
All my sisters are crying,
so my God, oh my God,
I am crying with them.
Júlia Červeňáková, Svinia 2001
Júlia sings her halgato as if she were building a castle from the
blocks of flats. One might say that she invents things. No. She
combines. From a number of fixed images, idioms, and melodious
phrases every time she creates a totally different song, but truly a
different song. Most singers improvise when they sing halgato, but it is
almost always a particular, distinguishable song. But here, in Svinia,
fragments of songs fly and the singer puts them together in tune with
her present mood. And not only Júlia. This style of combining works
especially well with lyrics. On the other hand, the tunes that are used
are very monotonous, almost as if they are being recited. Each singer
has “her own melody” to which she connects various lyrics. Singers
from Svinia are really quite unique in this regard. We have never been
anywhere else that has such a large number of lines for one melody.
Songs look like lamentations, funeral dirges. Some women are even
Gentle Agáta is a little shy.
emotionally distressed; they cry and sigh, as if they want to shout out
all the pain of the world. For a moment they need to catch their breath
and then they are “attacked” by another song. The crying women do
not need or want our consolation. They find consolation in songs. The pain flows away: there is so much pain and
so the song seems endless. Sad, mourning words about death and about crying are endlessly repeated and varied.
The melody is basically the same, interconnected with the tunes at the places
where the words nai-na-na are sung. Júlia recollects some war. She probably got
it confused in her head since she claims to have survived two wars. When one
says two wars I imagine the first and second world wars. Júlia does not look
that old and even she herself says she is 65 years old. Although half an hour
later she claims she is 70 years old, but it is still not old enough to remember
two world wars. No one disagrees with her. I do not know what two wars she
had in mind.
The landlady joins the singing (she is another Agáta, this time a Ms.
Holubová) with full force. The first Agáta sings, sometimes the second voice
joins her. Then, the first Agáta sings alone, then the second one alone. Then
they sing together. It seems that they sing some song or song combinations
several times. These songs may begin, let us say, with the same words, but then
they develop in a very different way.
Another Agáta, a housewife.
45
Joj, čhavale, Romale,
joj phares buči keren.
Joj na chaľom na piľom,
joj sostar me mačiľom.
Oh, boys, Romanies,
oh, how hard is your work!
Oh, I did not eat or drink,
oh, I wonder what made me drunk?
Joj, so me, čori, kerav,
joj, mar man ňiko nane?
Joj, e daj mange muľa,
joj, ačhiľam široti.
Joj, soske mange romes,
joj, te me les na kamav?
Oh, poor me, what should I do?
Oh, I have no one.
Oh, my mom’s passed away
oh, we were left orphans.
Oh, what is a husband for
when I do not love him?
Joj, Devlale, Devlale,
joj, so me, čori, kerav?
Joj, nane man dadoro,
joj, nane man dajori.
Joj, so me čori kerav,
joj, de man ňiko nane?
Oh, God, dear God,
oh, poor me, what should I do?
Oh, I don’t have a daddy,
oh, I don’t have a mommy,
oh, poor me, what should I do,
oh, when I have no one?
Dajaj, jaj,a ...
Daiai, yai, a...
Agáta Holubová, Agáta Horváthová, Svinia 2001
Phralale, pheňale, ma roven pal mande,
ma roven pal mande, bo me nasvaľi som.
Na džanav te kerel, so, čori, kerava.
Me bari nasvaľi som,
so džanav te kerel?
Brothers, sisters, don’t cry for me,
don’t cry for me ‘cause I’m ill.
I don’ know what I’ll do, poor me, what will I do.
I’m ill so much,
what should I do?
Ej, andr’odi špitaľa ajsi nasvaľi som,
ajsi nasvaľi som,
so džanav te kerel.
Pheňale, phralare,
ma roven pal mande.
Eh, so ill am I in the hospital,
so ill am I.
What should I do?
Sisters, brothers,
don’t cry for me.
Ma roven pal mande,
bo me na dživava,
bo me na dživava,
bo me de merava.
Don’t cry for me
‘cause I’ll live no more.
‘Cause I’ll live no more,
‘cause I’ll die.
Bo me de merava,
bo som bari nasvaľori.
Dajori mirori, či me na som tiri,
či ča oda tiri, so paš tute hiňi?
‘Cause I’ll die,
‘cause I’m very ill.
My dear mother, am I not yours?
Is only the one that is beside you yours?
Ča koja paš tute, so tuha ľikerel
a me tiri na som, so džanav te kerel.
Kaj me man thovava,
te man ňiko nane.
Just the one beside you that sides with you,
but am I not yours who works so much?
Where will I go
when I have no one?
Brišind del, brišind del,
o gad pre ma cindžom.
O gad pre ma cindžom,
ko les šučarena.
It’s raining, raining.
I bought a shirt.
I bought a shirt.
Who will dry it?
Šučar, mamo, šučar,
mro kalo gadoro.
Mro kalo gadoro,
so me les urava.
Dry it, mom, dry,
my little black shirt,
My little black shirt
that I’ll put on.
48
Joj, Devlale, Devla,
so džanav te kerel?
Avel kalo jevend,
kaj me man thovava.
O phralora hin man ajse nalačhe,
čhiven man, čhiven man
andal peskero kheroro.
Ma čhiven man avri,
bo me tumari som,
bo me tumari som,
jekh šukar pheňori.
Such evil brothers I have,
they’re throwing me, throwing me out out of their little house.
Don’t throw me out,
‘cause I’m yours,
‘cause I’m yours,
the only pretty sister.
‘Cause I’m alone,
my mother’s passed away.
Bo me som korkori,
e daj mange muľa.
My mother’s passed away
I was left alone.
I was left alone
like a cut-off twig.
E daj mange muľa,
ačhiľom korkori.
Ačhiľom korkori,
sar čhindo kaštoro.
Whose children are these
sitting in a ditch?
They have no mother.
Who will feed them?
Kaskre ole čhave,
so pro šancos bešen?
Nane len daj odoj,
ko len te chal dena?
They have no mother there,
who will feed them?
Children are crying, starving,
plagued by great hunger, with great misery.
Nane len daj odoj,
ko len te chal dena?
O čhavore roven la bara bokhatar,
la bara bokhatar, la bara bidatar.
Oh dearest God, oh God,
what shall I do?
Black winter’s coming,
where will I go?
Agáta Horváthová, Svinia 2001
Joj, Devlale, so me kerdžom,
joj, me mište de na kerdžom.
Raje romes khere mukhľom,
kurvašiha me odgeľom.
Oh God, what have I done?
I’ve done no good,
abandoning my good husband
running off with a womanizer.
Joj, Devlale, so me džanav,
joj, mire čhave ačhen,
joj, Devlale, so me kerdžom,
mire romes khere mukhľom?
Oh God, I know nothing.
Oh God, my children ‘re staying.
Oh God, what have I done
havin’ left my husband behind?
Hin man čhave, he but čhave,
so me, čori, len kerava?
Jaj, dadoro, len mar nane,
jaj e daj, o dadoro.
Jaj, dadoro, lenge muľa,
joj, ačhiľen e široti.
I’ve children, lots of children,
poor me, what will I do?
Alas, they’ve no father any more,
alas, they’ve no father, nor mother,
alas, their father passed away,
alas, orphans they were left.
Joj, čhavale, so me kerdžom,
joj me mište, de, na kerdžom.
Raje romes khere mukhľom,
kurvašija me svetos geľom.
Oh, Romanies, what have I done,
oh, I’ve done no good.
Abandoning my good husband
running off with a womanizer.
Joj, Devlale, so me kerdžom,
te man, Devla, ňiko nane,
jaj, e daj mange, Devla, muľa,
jaj, ačhiľom de široti.
Oh God, what have I done,
when, God, I have no one?
Alas, God, my mother’s died,
alas, we’re left orphans.
Agáta Holubová, Svinia 2001
49
The women want to have musical accompaniment. A guitar player comes. He plays, but in a short while a peg on
his guitar breaks. He leaves, saying he will fix it. In the meantime, a tape recorder begins to play. Someone plays rompop music very loudly. The room begins to fill with people. Young people and children come, all of them dance. Even
our Tánička dances. She looks very tall and very slim among the small Romanies. She dances quite differently, too. I
cannot dance since I am stuck in the chaos of various cords, microphones, earphones, electrical power adapters,
cameras, diaries...
I remember a Romany feast in Žehňa with nostalgia. I brought along three of my friends. Two of them took
photos, one recorded music and I had fun. Now my position is totally different. I am the boss, as the vlachiko Romanies
in Petrovany called me, and it is not pleasant at all.
Even so we divide our work. Two of us leave to record music, and the other two leave to take some photos. On
our way we encounter a smiling youth–resembling the Slovak cabaret actor and entertainer, Štefan Skrúcaný–with a
bowl of unemptied and uncleaned intestines. Today there is a feast. They prepare a typical Romany meal–guts filled
with potatoes–called goje. Of course, it is, at first, necessary to wash the intestines very carefully. And, indeed, on our
way to the village we encounter a girl as she washes the intestines in the
stream. In the same dirty, stinking stream full of waste, cans and wornout clothes... Later we meet children stuffing themselves with goje.
But let us get back to our situation. After many consultations with the
children we finally get to the guitar player’s flat. He sits comfortably at
ease and watches television. His guitar is inaccessible from the ground,
put on top of the wardrobe, reportedly unrepairable. He claims he
hasn’t any glue. We run to the shop in a prefabricated house. The social
worker, who is also the shop assistant, says that unfortunately she has
no glue. Neither for sale, nor for lending. She advises us to go and see
a local carver.
The carver is gloomy man with a sinister look. He makes a variety of
wooden kitsch as well as small, beautiful statues of Christ on the cross.
We ask him whether he sells his artifacts anywhere. At first he claims
his things were bought by folk-lore handicraft and souvenir shops, but
On our way we meet a smiling young man-resembling
then somehow it stopped. Today, I regret that I did not buy at least one
Štefan Skrúcaný-with a bowl of still full, not cleaned bowels,
statue. But I can still correct my mistake. At least I hope
a delicacy to-be goje.
I can.
We have glue and we give it to the guitar player, but we are sort of tired
and hungry and we have to pee. Where? The social worker from the community centre-shop is smiling, a smile which
may have a little bit of a violent or malicious undertone. Toilettes? She gives us a key from the kindergarten which is
at the moment in quarantine. How come? Why is it in quarantine? Well, because of jaundice. Tánička suddenly
realizes with panic that while she was dancing she ate pancakes baked by a pretty girl. The social worker just laughs
and says that once there was there a lady who was very afraid of diseases. Every day she washed herself at home with
disinfective soap, she washed all her clothes and she did not touch anyone or anything and, yet, she was still infected
with jaundice. Diseases, in fact, know who is afraid of them and they infect this very person. We listen to her and
realize how difficult it is to resist physical contact in this environment if we know that for these people touch is a much
more integral and taken-for-granted part of life than for us, white people. In other words, we go to the kindergarten
toilettes.
The guitar remains resting, untouched, high up on the wardrobe and we do not undertake any other steps
to fix it.
We get back to work. The local women are joined by a new face, a local phuri daj. A phuri daj is the most honoured
woman in the settlement; she is treated with a similar respect and has similar rights as the Romany vaida has. The local
phuri daj is quite small. She is in a good mood, but makes everyone feel that she is ‘someone’ here. She smokes rolled
cigarettes every now and then and at first she expects small royaltees. She finds out that the other women have already
sung and she wants to show off, too, so she sings the longest song I have ever heard. She sings in a reciting way, very
simply and monotonously; she just sings and sings. In her song can be heard many wandering strophes which we
know from other songs, combined and enriched, probably according to her present mood. The songs really appeared
quite ancient.
Joj, amari phuri daj
tel oblaka bešel.
Tel oblaka bešel,
churde apsa čhorel.
Our old granny
below the window’s sitting.
Sitting below the window,
shedding tears.
Ma čhinger tre bala,
mange žaľa keres.
Jaj, mange žaľa keres,
de mire jiloreske.
Do not cut your hair,
you’re causing me grief,
oh, you’re causing me grief
in my heart.
50
51
Ma roven čhavale,
hej, miri daj avel.
Miri daj avel,
kotor maro anel.
Children, do not cry,
hey, my mother’s coming.
My mother’s coming,
a slice of bread is bringing.
Ole štar čhavore
pro prahocis bešen.
Pro prahocis bešen,
kotor maro mangen.
Those four children
at the threshold are sitting.
At the threshold are sitting,
for a slice of bread ‘re pleading.
Dajori mirori,
či me na som tiri?
Či me na som tiri,
bo man na ľikeres?
My dearest mother
am I not your daughter?
Am I not your daughter
that you care so little?
Čhajori romaňi,
ker mange jagori.
Ma dikh pre man banges,
čarav tro jiloro.
Romany girl, young,
please make me a fire.
Don’t look at me crossly,
I love your young heart.
Štar love, štar love,
le, o čhaja vriskinen.
A o čhave le čhajen
tel oblaka vičinen.
Four coins, four coins,
take them, young girls are shouting.
And boys are calling girls
under their windows.
Me na džav, me na džav,
bo mek e daj na sovel.
A sar e daj sovela
akor me tuha džava.
I’m not going, going,
‘cause my mother’s awake.
Only when she’s asleep
will I go out with you.
But oda, but oda,
duj berš te užarel.
Duj berš te užarel
o lubipen te kerel.
A long time, long time,
to wait for two years.
To wait for two years
to be unfaithful.
Sakoneske lačhes,
kaske hin daj.
I ja mange nalačhes,
bo me korkori som.
Every one is lucky
who still has a mother.
I’m not the lucky one
‘cause I’m all alone.
Phagle mange phagle,
mri kaľi musori.
Bar la te phagle
ča la te na dav.
They broke, they broke,
my little brown arm.
I’d not mind it broken
I’d just ne’er give it.
Čhave, mire čhave
pal o svetos gele.
Joj, ačhiľom korkori,
de, bo man ňiko nane.
Oh children, my children,
they went out into the world.
Oh, I’m left behind alone
‘cause I have no one.
Te man murdarena,
ta man parunena.
Ko pre mande rovla?
Mire štar čhavore.
If you kill me,
I’ll be buried.
Who’ll mourn for me?
My four children.
Andre karčma geľom,
de lovina na piľom.
Mek la na dopiľom
Joj, pal o muj chudľom.
I went to the pub
hadn’t had a beer yet.
I hadn’t drunk it all
oh, when on my face I was slapped.
Joj, de čori som, čori som,
čora dakeri som.
Joj, so me čori kerava,
bo man ňiko nane.
I am poor, I am poor,
a child of a poor mother.
Poor me, what shall I do
because I have no one?
Phrala miro, phrala,
biken tro gadoro.
Biken tro gadoro,
vaš o kotor maro.
Oh brother, my brother,
sell your little shirt.
Sell your little shirt
for a slice of bread.
Sar les bikenava
de o čhave o roven.
Jaj, de, o čhave de roven,
de vaš o kotor maro.
If I choose to sell it,
children are crying.
Oh, children have been crying
craving only a slice of bread.
Jaj, thova, de thova
de la kaľa phuvake
De la kaľa phuvake
mre vasta la bučake.
Oh, I will put, I will put it
into the black ground.
Into the black ground
putting my hands into work.
Devloro, joj, Devla,
de sasťipen mange,
jaj e daj mange muľa,
bo me korkori som.
My dear God, oh God,
please give me good health.
Oh, my mother’s perished
and I’ve remained alone.
Phuri daj, Svinia 2001
And what else did we see in Svinia? An Indian beauty, flying hair, a woman under two crosses, shining eyes, a woman
who was feeding two children at once, children–mothers, the cross on tiles, pretty women, idle men, some boys (with
plastic bags containing the chemical drug called toluene abused for its narcotic effect) with eyes as if from another world,
much dirt, much poverty, many children, many dogs, many holy pictures and many many other things. We took some
of these away in our memories and some of these in photographs.
We conclude this day full of strong impressions by attending an orthodox mass. The priest goes out and in,
iconostases awaken, women in scarves kneel down on their knees. Once more we are surrounded with music. Three-voice
choirs soothe our troubled thoughts and feelings like a balm. They give hope that, after all, life has meaning,.
(Wednesday, September 26, 2001, Svinia)
ILONA
n the morning I look at ‘my’ girls and I can see that they have
had enough of everything. In addition, I feel remorseful that I
have not visited my old Romany friends in Žehňa. Žehňa is the
very first settlement in which I started to record Romany songs.
I visited it most often and most of the Romanies whom I know
come from Žehňa.
At first, we go to see how the kindergarten works. The white
people have their own kindergarten, just as the Romanies do.
The Romany kindergarten is a different one. Teachers make sure
that even children of pre-school age learn the Slovak language
and also prepare themselves in other areas (counting, basic
hygienic habbits, good manners etc.) for entrance to school.
There are similar institutions in other locations of Prešov county.
The teacher is not a Romany; she has been working in this place
I thought that Ilona could not surprise me with anything.
for eight years and she does so with joy. At the moment she has
also had a helper for about a year, a Romany assistant, whom I
recognize–my friend Soňa.
We speak to a little boy in Slovak. He looks at us as if we have flown here from Mars. He does not understand a
single word. In a moment he is merrily chatting with his friend in the Romany language. Soňa is more strict with the
children than the teacher is. The children should tidy up their toys. They do not feel like doing it, especially when they
have a visitor. But Soňa shows no mercy. She watches them strictly until everything is ready.
We continue on our field trip on the way to the school. The children smile, the teachers try to look serious, as if we
were, in the least, a county school supervisory team. Upon our departure the children grant us a great reward. They say
that they wish I were their teacher. In the classrooms there are only Romany children. Non-Romanies send their children
to Prešov. They do not wish their children to attend the same school as Romany children. It is difficult to blame them,
as Romany children move ahead through the educational curriculum more slowly due to a language handicap. In the
higher grades it is then difficult to catch up with the things that are missed in the lower grades. The Romany
kindergarten attempts to mitigate this problem.
I
52
When leaving we meet a priest, Imrich Revák, at the door.
He is from the neighbouring village. He is going to teach
religion. He tells us about the Romany children; it is obvious he
likes them.
Then we go directly to the settlement, Hurka. At first we go
to the house of Ilona Mačová. When I come here the house
always looks a little bit different. Children marry, grandchildren
are born and at the same time the interior of the house changes.
Last time, they all were on the ground floor, now they are all
upstairs. I am surprised by the new mural paintings in the
corridor and in the rooms. No, they did not paint it. They called
Milan Pašta from Tuhriná. Other people also call him when they
want to have a goose, a lake or some other piece of nature
Mária is as charming today as she used to be in her
painted on the wall.
childhood.
We meet the youngest daughter, Esterka. A few years ago
she was a little girl; she would cry when I was leaving. Today she
shows me, with pride, her own child. It has blonde hair and a
white complexion. It is the real pride and joy of the family. They believe it will have more chances in life with that colour
of complexion and hair. I also meet Mária from the neighbouring house. She has become Ilona’s daughter-in-law. She
is as charming as she had been in her childhood. In the meantime, Mária’s sister, Regina, has become a dignified lady.
More and more she resembles her mother. I think she does not like it in the settlement and would give anything in the
world just to get out of there. Though the Žehňa settlement cannot be compared with the settlement in Svinia.
At first Ilona does not want to sing. She says she has a sore throat. At last she sits down under the window and sings
the ancient Romany halgato, Phagle mange mri musori. I have not heard this song. I am pleased even more because I thought
Ilona would not surprise me... In subsequent field research in the vicinity of Bardejov I heard this song in various
versions at least ten times. We know just a little about the life of songs. About them, how they wander from man to man,
from village to village. Later, I put together the connection that could possibly be the leading thread. Ilona’s son married
in the settlement of Petrová in the Bardejov county. We meet him there.
Phagle mange mri musori,
bijal miri piraňori.
Kaj la mange te phaglena,
ča la mange tuke dena.
They broke my little shoulder,
because of my sweetheart.
I don’t care if it’s broken,
if only I get you.
Soske mange ola love,
te man nane o sasipen.
Te man nane o sasipen
so tu manca tu kereha.
I don’t care about money
when health is what I lack.
If health is what I lack
what will you, will you do with me.
De te rozdžal pes mušinav
vaš tute, barije lubňije.
Jaj, se imar o gulo Del pačal,
savi žaľa man pro miro kalo jilo.
We’ll have to break up,
‘cause of you, unfaithful,
Alas, but the sweet God trusts me
how my black heart’s grieving.
Gabika Horváthová, Svinia 2001; Marinka Holubová, Markušovce 2001;
Béla Pokuta, Žehra – Dreveník 2001; Jožko Žiga, Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Ilona adds her favourite song Rozi, Rozi, meľaľi som. I realize she sings more lines than the last time.
Rozi, Rozi, meľaľi som,
de prindžarna man, de kaj lubňi som.
Joj, de te som lubňi, de jekheskeri,
de na le šele čhavengeri.
Rosa, Rosa, dirty I am,
they’ll learn that a whore I am.
Oh, though I’m a whore for one man,
but not for a hundred children.
Keci tuke, ajsi mange,
de phares tuke pale mande.
Joj, de tuke pharo pale mande,
de mange pharo pale tute.
Equal parts of both of usyou have missed me very much.
Oh, you miss me a great deal,
and I miss you quite a bit.
Darge, Darge, mri piraňi,
de phen ča mange či man kames.
Joj de me na kamav ča tut jekha,
de me vaš tuke sevedina.
My dear, my beloved one,
tell me please if your love is mine.
Oh, you are my only love
you are all for which I live.
Ilona Mačová, Žehňa 2001
53
This is the way Ilona sang the same song 13 years ago.
Di te tu džanľan, na kamľan man,
di soske tu man probaľinen?
Di šaj tu mange smirom diňal,
joj, dinahas man mro pirano.
If you knew you didn’t love me
why did you decide to test me?
You should have left me alone
I would have gone out with my boyfriend.
Rozi, Rozi, meľaľi som,
de prindžarav man, hoj lubňi som.
Te som lubňi le rajenge,
joj, te nalačhi som le čhavenge.
Rosa, Rosa, dirty I am,
I admit I am a whore.
When I’m a whore for gentlemen,
oh, I’m not good for children.
Pobila me, ňeboľi me,
pridze mili, zahoji me.
Zahoj, mili, tote jazvi,
joj, co pobiľi paľičkami.
They hit me, it doesn’t hurt,
my beloved comes, he will heal me.
My beloved will heal those scars
oh, caused by being beaten with rods.
Ilona Mačová, Žehňa 1988
And now one more song that I know from Žehňa. Today, Ilona shortened it a little bit.
U Kašate o plagati de primaren,
de u mre phrales ole raja sudzinen.
Ma sudzinen les rajale, de joj de but,
hin les khere štar čhavore, mukhen les.
In Košice posters are being nailed up.
My brother is being judged by those men.
Don’t judge him, lords, oh too strictly,
he has four kids at home, let him go.
Ilona Mačová, Žehňa 2001
U Kašate o plagate figinen
u man čores o raja sudzinen.
Me ča kamav mire romňa pro sudos,
hoj te dikhel, sar man, čores, sudzinen.
In Košice posters are hanging,
and poor me, I am being judged.
I just want my wife to come to court
to see poor me be judged.
O plagati Perešiste figinen,
u man, čores, andre sudzinen.
Dža ča, mamo, lake te phenel,
hoj te dikhel mire čhave paš mri daj.
Posters in Prešov are hanging,
and poor me, I am being judged inside.
Go, mother, just tell her
to go to see my children at my mother’s.
U Kašate, Perešiste figinen,
u man, čores, o raja sudzinen.
Dža ča, mamo, dža ča tu vaš lake,
hoj te dikhel sar o raja sudzinen.
In Košice, in Prešov posters ‘re hanging,
and it’s poor me they’re judging.
Go, mother, go to see her
so that she could watch me being judged.
Na vaš oda khere avľom, lubňije,
kaj me tuha pale te dživel.
Me ča avľom mire čhaven te dikhel,
andre mande miro jilo pukinel.
I didn’t come home, you whore,
to live with you again.
I just came back to look at my children
‘cause my heart’s going to burst inside me.
Žehňa 1988
Ilona was the first person who sang Romany songs for me fourteen years ago. She was accompanied by her son
Koloman, called Kalma, who played the guitar. Now, Ilona also tries to sing the song Dalke, dalke, mri dajori. It is one of
the songs which we have also heard in other settlements. But now she really cannot control her voice. Someone in the
background quietly sings the second voice.
56
Dalke, dalke, mri dajori,
de thov man andro hadžos.
De oda hadžos ajso baro,
de sasťovav avri.
Mommy, mommy, my dear mom,
put me in my bed.
The bed is so big,
it will cure me.
Imar na birinav,
mro jilo man dukhav.
Imar mange mro dživipen
de ča avka rozdžaha.
I can no more,
my heart is aching,
I will, to life,
just say goodbye.
Di se mar na birinav,
i de o jilo man dukhav.
Di kajci mange mro dživipen,
jaj di te merel mušinav.
I can no more
my heart is aching.
This much life I have,
I have to die.
Ilona Mačová, Žehňa 2001; Erika Husárová, Abranovce 1995
Dalke miri, mri dajori,
ej o doktoris mange phenďa
kaj me paňi te na pijav.
Bo sar paňi me pijava
mre čavoren me mukhava.
My mother, mother mine,
eh, I was told by a doctor
not to drink the water.
If I drink the water,
I’ll leave my children here.
Mamo, mamo, mri dajori,
vičin le man le doktoris.
Le doktoris, le primaris,
maj jov phenla so man dukhal.
Mama, mama, mother mine,
call the doctor to me.
A doctor, an experienced doctor,
so that he tells me what my ailment’s been.
A man dukhal mro peroro,
kaj man mište na čhingerde.
Kaj man mište na čhingerde,
jaj de bo me darav, hoj me merav.
My tummy is hurting,
for badly operated on was I.
For badly operated on was I
oh, I’m afraid I’m goin’ to die.
De bara lestar čhorel,
mre jilestar o rat čuľol.
Čuľol, čuľol, bo mušinel.
Greatly is my heart,
greatly it is bleeding,
It’s bleeding, bleeding ‘cause it has to.
Jareček 2001
During this vast field research we have not found some of the songs that singers from Žehňa sang for me in the past.
Mangav kečen le phralestar,
jaj ov phenel, že les nane.
De tu ma phen, hoj tut nane,
hoj but Roma te na šunen.
Hoj but Roma le gavendar,
joj, bari ladž mange keres.
I’m asking my brother for a loan,
oh, he’s saying he has nothing.
Don’t you say that you don’t have
so that many Romanies wouldn’t hear you.
Many Romanies from the villages,
oh, you’re embarrassing me greatly.
Žehňa, 1988
Ole mire duj čhavore
avka roven, Devles pre man mangen.
Mamo miri, nasvaľi som,
terňi som, te merel mušinav.
These two little children of mine
much they’re crying, praying to God for me.
Mother mine, sick am I,
young am I, I’ll have to die.
Phendžas mange mri phuri daj,
so me čori, joj mamo, di kerav?
Mamo miri, nasvaľi som,
nasvaľi som, te merel mušinav.
My granny used to tell me,
poor me, mother, what will I do?
Oh mother mine, sick am I,
sick am I, I’ll have to die.
Žehňa 1988
57
Sako Roma sa vakeren,
andro oda chrobocis di sar me tut thova, e daj.
Di avka the sas irimen, sar kodi čori som.
Andro mochto pašľol mro phuro dad
di le kale balenca.
All people are saying
that I’ll lay you in a grave, mama.
So it was written that I’m the poor one.
My grandpa is lying in a coffin
with black hair.
Oki mri phuri daj gav gavestar phirel,
gav gavestar phirel, kotor maro mangel.
Di kotor maro mangel di peskere čhavenge.
Joj, Devla, so me kerav, di bari nasvaľi som.
My grandma goes wandering through the villages,
through the villages asking for a slice of bread,
asking for a slice of bread for her children.
God, what should I do, very sick am I.
Žehňa 1988
Phučav man tuke, mangel,
phučav me mangel, so me kerdžom.
De ma dikh man, ale dikh le čhaven,
bo o čhave amaro dživipen.
Please forgive me,
please forgive me for my wrongdoing.
Don’t look at me, rather think about our children,
since children are our life.
Žehňa 1988
Dado, dado, ma ruš pre ma,
joj, že kaľi, phenav, na urava.
Se kaľi di na urava, joj Devla,
jaj, že amen o dad mukhľa.
Father, father, don’t be angry with me
oh, for saying that I won’t wear black.
I will not wear black, oh God,
after our father has perished.
Erika Mačová, Mária Horváthová, Žehňa 1996
Everyone called the vajda, the leader or boss of a local Romany
community, from Žehňa a chairman. This was probably true not only of
the vajda from Žehňa. The local Communist government offices used
the natural authority of vajdas and employed them here or they tried to
co-operate with them in some other way. It helped to maintain order in
the respective settlement and good relationships between Romanies and
non-Romanies. Gradually, the Romanies learned to call their vajda a
chairman. White people had a chairman and Romanies also had a
chairman.
To be received by Chairman Pavol Mačo Kočibalo from Žehňa was
not an easy task. The first time I visited him he declared that it was
not a suitable time because it was raining. He said it with all his
authority and dignity. The second time we made an appointment it
was not raining, but his daughters announced that he had gone to a
It was not that easy to receive an audience to see the
football match. I did not give up and the third time I was lucky.
chairman Pavol Mačo-Kočibala (on the right) from Žehňa.
(The picture is from the year 1988.)
Kočibalo received me. We talked about this and that, he sang me a
couple of songs, a kind of male song. When we would meet again
after a couple of years and he would see my son, he was glad that I
already had at least one ‘piece’ (meaning a child). Obviously, my value increased in his eyes. However, it did not
increase very much because one child means only a little. Unfortunately, he did not live long enough to see my
second child. He was a passionate smoker; he died of tuberculosis. The settlement Hurka in Žehňa then lost its
leader. With his death the function of vajda or chairman expired. They have not elected anyone since then and the
Romanies complain that things have become worse in the settlement. People behave badly toward each other
and there is no one to lead or give advice to youngsters. He also left behind, apart from other things, these two
songs.
De trinšel cakľi pašal mande,
de mri piraňi pašal mande.
Mri piraňi pašal mande,
la lubňake ča muj ľoľol.
Three hundred bottles around me,
my beloved is beside me.
My beloved is beside me,
the unfaithful one’s face is blushing.
Pavol Mačo Kočibalo, Žehňa, 1988,
58
Taboricis, taboricis,
joj, di maškaro e karčmica.
Joj, di maškaro e karčmica,
cinav mange loviňica.
Settlement, settlement,
oh, with a pub in its midst.
Oh, there’s a pub in its midst,
beer is what I’m buying.
Pavol Mačo-Kočibalo, Žehňa 1988
The young people cannot wait to show off. A girl with artificially blonde hair, who does not look like a Romany girl
at all, sings discotheque songs in the Romany language. She pushes her voice into vertiginous heights; it is trembling
from her efforts. The lower range which she chooses in the next pop song suits her better. She copies, with bravado, the
Spanish language of the most recent TV series hit. I do not want to ruin a friendly atmosphere so I let them sing. During
my previous research I recorded a lot of material in Žehňa. We cannot miss the Balogh house. We promised Soňa that
we would visit her. Their house is one of the nicest in the settlement. Its
surroundings are especially well kept–a green lawn, flowers, small stone
stairs. I am glad that there are more and more of these lovely houses in
Žehňa. I remember that when I was a little child there were only ugly
cottages in Hurka. We descend to the house. Smiling, Soňa’s mother
sends us to see Soňa in the room upstairs. The house, inside, is as clean
and as well kept as it is outside. There are artificial flowers as well as
natural flowers in flowerpots. Many people have a sore throat in this time
of the year. Some of them do not even want to sing because of this. Soňa
has a sore throat, too. Her neck is wrapped with a scarf and she is
watching TV. We have a small chat. We wonder why it is that such a nice
girl who is 28 years old is not married. Soňa says she will not marry any
person, just like that. And if she is to marry someone, she wants her
husband to be good, to have a job, not to drink. She had one suitor. He
was a vlachiko (olašský) Romany. He was nicely dressed. He had a big house.
Soňa made us hot tea with lemon.
Soňa wished she could live in such a nice house and to have everything
she might want, but there was something to which she objected. It seemed
to her that there were people who had a lot of things–they wanted even more and they would never be satisfied. And so,
she remains single. She even thinks about the future as a nun. For the time being, she is completing a course to become
a laywoman, a religious teacher. Even before finishing this course she is helping the priest. However, she begins to feel
lonely because she is changing and, thus, is beginning to be excluded from her own community. Now she belongs neither
here, nor there. When the priest asked her to teach the Romany girls from Žehňa to prepare them for confirmation, they
began to look at her as if she were proud and snobbish. She is losing her friends. She has nothing to talk about with
them. She leads a Romany choir. She helps organize annual spiritual festivals.
A nice visit, but we do not record anything since Soňa cannot sing. Slowly, we are leaving. Soňa accompanies us on
our way back and other girls join her. When we approach a non-Romany part of the village, the girls begin to go back
to the settlement.
A short way from Hurka we meet three girls with sacks full of apples. They look at us hostilely and shout obscenities
at us. They are caught red-handed. They defend themselves before they are even accused. If they had not behaved so
strangely, none of us would have guessed the apples were stolen.
Today we get home extraordinarily early. I begin to write down the songs and my impressions. Then we make a fire
in our stove and until night we practice singing Romany songs like Soven čhave soven.
59
Soven čhave, soven,
ča te chal ma mangen,
joj, se tumari e phuri daj
andr’odi kaľi phuv džal.
Sleep my children, sleep,
just don’t ask for food,
oh, ‘cause your grandmother
is going into the black ground.
Aven phrala, pheňa,
aven man te dikhel.
Aven man phrala te dikhen
joj, sar me čores dživav.
Come, brothers, sisters,
come to visit me.
My brothers are coming to see me
alas, how poor my life is.
Maj me phundravava,
ča mro vast hazdava.
Jaj, ča me mire churde čhaven
te sovel thovava.
I’ll get the door in a minute,
I’ll just lift up my hand.
Alas, I’ll just put my little kids,
put them to sleep.)
Ma rov, mamo, ma rov,
ma čhinger tre bala.
Joj, bo de man churde čhave,
mušinav te dživel.
Don’t cry, mother, don’t cry,
don’t pull out your hair.
Alas, ‘cause I have little kids,
I have to live.
Sa čhingeren, sa phageren,
čak mro šero ma čalaven.
I de sar mro šero čalavena,
de mre čhavenge, hej de žaľa kerna.
All you’re tearing, all you’re breaking,
just don’t hurt my head.
If you hurt my head,
you’ll make my children grieve.
Adela and Kalma Mačo, Žehňa 1988; Magda Miková, Poštárka 2001; Zborov 2001;
Béla Pokuta, Žehra-Dreveník 2001; Bystrany 2001; Snina 2002; Vechec 2002; Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002
(Thursday, September 27, 2001, Žehňa)
TOLUENE
ith slightly refreshed minds and feelings we hit the road for Jarovnice. Svinka, the stream flooded the whole
surrounding area a few years ago. The most extensively damaged of all places was this village and in particular
a Romany settlement, which is still situated on its banks. Children were carried away by the flood. We are going to
be among people who recently buried their relatives. What will it be like? At the same time, we are glad that we shall
at least see some of the famous pictures of children from Jarovnice. Everyone from around the world has seen them.
We are coming to the non-Romany part of Jarovnice and we are going to separate. Two of us are going to the local
parish and the other two are going to the local government office of the village. Michalka and Daňa have not really
been able to find out much about the village at the local administration office; they have just seen a chart showing
the unfortunate demographical development of the population in the village. This chart shows how the ratio of
Romany population in the village rises and that unemployment, especially among Romanies, increases, too. In the
meantime, I am, along with Táňa, trying to find the rectory and the parish priest in it. We knock at the door of the
house directly next to the church. A rather surly looking woman comes to open the door and nods in the direction of
the neighbour house. The gate is open and we go directly to the house. A handsome, young man comes to the door
right after we ring the bell. He still does not know what we need, but he invites us to come into the house. In a little
while Michalka and Daňa come. We can hear how the priest exchanges jokes with them in the lounge; he says there
have not been any young ladies here today, but our shoes reveal the truth.
We assume that the priest will know his sheep and we expect useful advice. But as it turns out, he scarcely has
time to bury and baptize people. He knows about the population explosion in the settlement. Of the 3000 people in
the settlement about 1500 are children and adolescents. Quite a lot of Romanies attend church services. This is due
largely to the Small Sisters of Jesus who have had a mission in this settlement. They did not lecture, they did not reeducate anyone, they just brought their mobile caravan into this place and began to share common life with
Romanies. More and more Romanies suddenly began looking for God. It was worse when they wanted to attend
services in the church. This was because non-Romanies protested against this, saying the Romanies would dirty ‘their’
church. Thus, the sisters got an idea, a sort of invention. They somehow obtained a tractor trailer on which they built
an improvised altar. Then the priest celebrated the mass in the open air. The situation improved after the flood when
a diocesan collection of money was organized. People began to think about building a church right there, in the
settlement. Later, money also came from abroad and today a brand new, yellow church stands there. And how is the
relationship between the Romany and non-Romany today? Well, it is much better in the churches. Non-Romanies do
not intimidate Romanies when they come to the holy mass in a ‘white’ church and sometimes they even go to the
‘Romany’ church. The only way to the new church leads directly through the settlement. The church thus shifts and
erases the border between Romanies and non-Romanies.
Romany houses are situated on both banks of the stream Svinka. Originally, it was two settlements. One bank
belonged to the village Jarovnice and the other bank to Močidľany. Later, both villages were officially joined, but to
this day Romanies from both sides perceive themselves as ‘we’ and ‘others’. On the Močidľany side there are
supposedly richer Romanies and they have nices houses. We stay mostly on the Jarovnice side of the stream and we
can see houses that are small, dilapidated, with untidy exteriors, but also large, new and fenced ones with neatly
arranged yards and small gardens. So it is difficult to say.
The police station just before the settlement catches our attention. They say it stands here because policemen do
not have to go far when they have to intervene.
And immediately at this moment, a group of children begins to gather around us. We ask them how can we get
to the church and the community centre. Nobody is in the centre so the children take us directly to the church. On
our way, our attention is drawn to a small, dilapidated house with a painted mural on the facade. The cottage with
the crucified Christ in blue clouds will become an orientation spot and a meeting place. A lady looks at us from
behind the door and when she sees we are interested in the painting she invites us to come inside. On one wall there
is a Madonna, and flypaper full of flies creates a still-life of its own. On another wall there is a tiny, little picture of
Madonna with child, which is for me, the nicest picture I have ever seen in Jarovnice.
In the meantime, a rumour has spread around here that we are looking for songs and home paintings–either on
walls or in pictures. One lady drags us to her house, claiming that she has nice drawings and paintings there. Our
little guides bring us to women who know ancient songs. So once again we are splitting up. We leave the church for
a later time. Quickly we agree on a time to meet near ‘Christ in the clouds’.
W
60
It turns out that a fine arts mission is more successful than a musical one. Perhaps it is because Jarovnice
Romanies have recently gotten used to visits from people who are looking for their fine arts creations. Nobody wants
to sing, but everybody wants to show us what his son or daughter has painted. At the gate of one house stand three
older women. At last, something we are looking for. They certainly know some ancient songs. Even our guides
whisper that these women might sing for us. Unfortunately, they shake their heads in a rejecting gesture; they are a
family in sorrow. Their brother died. Not even a single song. It make no sense to try to persuade them.
I begin to feel nauseous from such a large crowd. But where are the older people? Over there, behind all of the
people I see a nice, white haired lady. She must be very old, indeed. We hurry over there. As soon as we reach the
house, the old lady disappears as if a mirage. When we ask the others standing around they all claim with certainty
that they have not seen any old woman and that no old woman lives there. Are we hallucinating? Why, we have both
seen her. A couple of hours later we find out that it wasn’t an hallucination. The old lady appears again in the same
spot. She does not understand a word of what we say to her. I do not know if she is deaf or if she does not understand
Slovak. She can scarcely understand what we want from her, but she makes a gesture of rejection indicating that she
cannot and will not sing.
While we are looking for someone who will be willing to sing for us, a pretty, smiling lady invites us into her
house. She does not want to hear a word about singing, but she wants to show us her house and give us some food
and drink. There, in the lounge, an oil painting of Madonna looks at us, painted right on the wall. We have already
seen the artist, standing by it, somewhere. He stood beside the women who were in sorrow. By the way, he does not
inhale toluene (a solvent used by some teenagers for inhaling as a drug). He paints. We go through the clean house
from room to room and we look at other works. There are plenty of them, but the best are in a collection at an
exhibition or competition or something like that. It is a pity. The landlady calls us to have coffee, but our watches tell
us that we have to go.
We meet at the house with Christ on it and we have to jump aside to avoid a truck with a crane passing by. It has
come to repair the public lights. Daňa uses it, she climbs up on the platform and takes some pictures. From above, all
of the houses seem to be patterns of colourful rugs hanging around.
Someone warns us not to go closer to the concrete blocks of flats. Most of the drug addicts, who inhale toluene,
from the entire settlement are there. We meet boys with plastic bags of toluene everywhere. They ramble on the roads
all around here and they do not even try to hide the bags with the toluene. One of our guides is involved in the local
peer-programme and she tells us how she warned her friend that he might die. He told her that he had seen how his
brother had drowned and he did not care whether he lived or died. It seems girls have more inner strength to cope
with a difficult situation. It is almost exclusively boys who become addicted to inhaling chemical drugs. A teacher of
ethics at the Jarovnice elementary schools says the victims are usually those who are the most sensitive, those who can
hardly cope with sorrow or pain. We are told that we need not be afraid of them. They are passive and resigned. Some
of them quit using drugs–a very few of them. It seems it is
useless to invest one’s energy into those who are already
addicts. ‘Drug Rehab’ therapy is difficult and the success rate
is minimal. What is more important is prevention, to get the
attention of young people so they are not bored.
It surprises us that a yard that is surrounded by a fence
serves as a short-cut. We have gone through it several times.
People in the yard enjoy themselves; they play cards, they chat
and they do not notice us. At first, we try to greet them and
apologize, then we understand that it is useless. They really are
not interested in who is crossing through their yard. In some
houses, we have not even seen doorknobs. Neighbours and
relatives freely come and go as if their houses are public
property. Although the houses have no doorknobs, here and
there we can see a cupboard locked with an iron padlock.
Mária Husárová has already been to France with her
A dog with big teeth is painted on another fence and it
singing and dancing.
bears the inscription: baro rukono–a large dog. In any case, I
tightly hold onto a small girl’s hand. She may defend me.
There are as many dogs here as in Svinia, but they seem sleepy as if they take drugs, too. Also, this one lazily rolls
around on its axis in one place; its head and tail droop toward the ground and it looks at nothing in particular with
an empty, vacant look.
The local Romany activist is supposed to unlock the church door for us. At first, he cross-examines us as to
whether we have permission from the parish priest or not. Only later, when it is obvious from many details that we
are coming directly from the rectory, does he begin to be more friendly. Again, we are passing by a baro rukono sign,
again without any harm. Meanwhile, the children find some lady singers. They are not old ladies, but young girls. As
a matter of fact, they are part of the local Romany folklore ensemble Jagori–A Small Fire. Well, what can we do? They
assure us that they know ancient songs. I know they will sing very nicely, but I do not expect any new things.
As we enter the church, the pretty, young ladies create a small crowd in the corner. I look at the interiour. Pictures
hang on the walls, I wonder why there are no works by local artists. Well, we have already seen so many beautiful
Madonnas and Christs. It seems the architect had a different conception. It is a pity.
61
From behind us come some more people; they sit down in the pews and the concert can start. When I take my
discman and microphone out of a bag, the girls get a little bit embarassed. They huddle even closer together and for
a long time they do not know with which song to begin. At last they sing. The first song is a čardáš with a wedding
theme. Then, once more, they put their heads together and consult each other. The space of the church inspires them
to choose religious songs. I shake my head in disagreement, no, not holy songs. Ancient Romany songs. Phurikane giľa,
as their mothers and grandmothers used to sing.
Mária Husárová is the dominant figure among the girls. With her singing and dancing she has even gone to
France. I communicate mostly with her because the other girls also respect her. Even the always-laughing Alena.
The girls want to dance, but the church is sacred for them... That is why we go to the back. The girls sing and
dance as long as they are still able to breath. They are used to singing together; it is apparent that they learned to sing
these songs together. They interrupt the melody with shouts: upre! Av pre! And they emphasize them in the same way.
They tell us how their fellow student, Monika Bilá, was very sad once. They did not know how to make her happy so
Mária Husárová and Viera Laciová composed a song for her. It is a new song, but it is based on the musical and lyrical
tradition of the ancient slowly-moving songs, halgato. In it there appear “travelling” stanzas which we can find in many
combinations and changes also in other songs.
Denaš, mamo, dromeha,
jaj, de bo me džav mre dromeha
Me nasig avľom me de khere
o pindre fadžindžom.
Run, mama, run, along the road,
‘cause that’s the road I’m taking.
I came home late
my feet have frozen.
O dad bešel bertena,
jaj, de nane mande ňiko.
Nane mande, Devla, ňiko,
pre oda baro svetos.
My father’s imprisoned
alas, I have no one.
I have no one, God, no one
in the whole world.
Denaš, mamo, dromeha,
jaj, de bo me džav mre dromeha.
Me nasig avľom me de khere,
la da te murdardena.
Run, mother, run, along the road
alas, ‘cause that’s the road I’m taking.
I came home late,
my mother was killed.
Mária Husárová, Viera Laciová, Jarovnice 2001
We say good-bye to the girls. We have to go. Down there, in the settlement we agreed with one old violinist that he
would put a band together. The other musicians should have returned from the town by now. We hurry to the meeting
point, but no one is there. Again I complain to myself that I was tricked again. As if I do not know the Romany
conception of time. We ask the young people hanging around whether they know the old violinist. He usually plays at
weddings, he even has got a band. At last, he is coming. I do not know if someone has called him... Is it him at all? In
the morning, a maestro musician, a dignified Romany as if from the good old days. Now, a staggering, drunk, human
wreck in a dirty, ragged sweater. Unfortunately, it is him. He will not play. His friends have not come from the town yet.
It is getting dark. More people in the settlement are getting into a ‘good’ mood–tipsy. We better go.
Our pretty, young beauties walk us to the car. We feel like taking them with us. We will have a similar feeling many
more times. I ask Mária whether she does not want to study music in Košice at the secondary musical
school–‘conservatory’. She shrugs her shoulders, she probably does not know how to do these things. Jarovnice has
silenced us.
62
Jana BELIŠOVÁ
O GIĽAVIPEN
THE O NAVAKERIBEN
ŇIKAS MA ČHIVEN ANDRE JAG!
ek jekh ďives savo sas determinimen amare musarde vurdoneha. Imar kamľas te avel Kerdo, vaš oda džas
Perješiste. No o buťa varekana džan avre dromeha sar kamas amen. O vurdon ela kerdo ki o dilos. So dži akor
keraha? Perješiste bešel romane ľileskri redakcija, džaha odoj. On šaj prindžaren le Romen pašal o Perješis u avka dena
amenge varesave tipi pro lačhe giľavne.
Andre redakcija hine but lačhe manuša, taven, amenge tejocis, dikhen andro adresari, keren telefoni. Andre
redakcija amenge dine literatura the o ľila, neve konktakti a maj buter džas odari lačhe šuňibnaha, hoj mište hin pro
svetos, dži kana hin andre leste ajse oazi sar kadi redakcija. Mek te kseroksinel o fotki perdal e Erika, the lakri šogorkiňa,
vareso sik te nakhavel andre thaneskri reštauracija, te džal vaš vurdon andro servisis u andro dikhiben Perješis.
Varhaňovcate avľam bi e Erika, se imar amen odoj savore prindžaren. U paľis o buťa na džan avka sar užarahas.
E but lačhi Ida andal o kher aňi o nakh na thovel avri. Ča diňas te phenel amenge, hoj oj na giľavela. Aňi la brigakra
Etelake nane andro giľavipen, no te diňas lav ( solacharďas) kaj giľavela, kamel o lav te doľikerel. Lel amen andro peskro
cikno kheroro. Hiňi phuri čhaj. Andro kheroro laha bešel lakri daj e Alžbeta Žigova, savake hin 77 berša. E Alžbeta avri
ľikerďas eňa čhavoren. Jekh čhajori lake muľas sar lake sas 18 berš, u aver eňa beršengri. Leperel hoj jekh lakre čhavendar
dživel andre Čechiko – „O Laďus pro Čechi“. Lakro rom o Ľudevit sas baro lavutaris, parunde les la lavutaha. Jekhetane
ačhade baro kher ochto sobenca prekal o duj fameľiji. Kija leste ačhade mek jekh cikno kheroro - kuchňicaha the sobaha
prekal peste the prekal e Erika.
La Etelake hin akana 48 berš u dživel korkori. Soske na geľas romeste? Sar sas cikňi čhajoeri o muršora la čhide
andre jag. Hin pre lakro teštos but labaripena. Mangenas la romňake, no oj daralas, hoj o rom la paľis na kamela bi
o lakre labaripena u avka ačhela le čhavorenca korkori. No akana imar pro oda na dikhel avka., no imar hin na sik. Mire
prindžarde rakľija pro agor pes do užarde ešebna giľa.
M
„Aja hiňi šukar“
De pozora, hin tumen mukhlo o plinos.“
„Och čačes. Taťaravas mange o dilos u bisterďom. Zijan o plinos.“
„U aja sajekh šukareder,“ – asandos phenel e Tanička.
Aven duj džene čhave. Jekhes andre šušťakoskri bunda amenge ispiden anglo mikrofonos. Hin les šukar hangos
u oda tremolo! Ča zijan, hoj o čhavoro hino ladžangutno. O vastoro na mukhel tele pal o bundakro zipsos u prastal opre
– tele, opre – tele. Te hino opre našavel pes leske o muj andre gaľira. Akor maj nič našunďol. Sar o zipsos džal tele, andal
e bunda avri čuľol hangoro sar leňori. O uprebašaviben namol nič, mangas le čhas, kaj mek te giľavel. O džuvľa pašal
leste leske igirinen čokoladica the akarso aver, ča te šukares giľavela. Pale giľavel odi jekh giľori.O džuvľa vičinen, adi na.
Aver. Giľavel aver, paľis pale oja, u imar hino olestar igisno bi peskero. O uprebašaviben pes the avka na kerďas mište.
Nič oda. Sas amen šukar, džido koncertos. Avka sar pes na diňas te zachudel o giľavipen, nedales pes te chudel aňi ov
korkoro. O Roman Balogh, cikno, džido rup, sakovar andro permanentno čalavipen... U savore foto hine rozcirdle.
Avel o Dežis – primašis the kapelňikos, la Etakro phral. Bašavel pre gitare „štare“ huren-ca, no bašavel avka, sar te
les enas savore huri. Sajinel pes, hoj e kapela pes leske rozpeľa. Nane love pro inštrumenti, nane love pre ňisoste. Nane
love. Ada pes but giľavel andro romane giľa. Nane love, ňi gada. Ola gada imar hin čirlatuňipen. Akana hine o Roma
šukares the žužes urade ( dži akana pes ajsenca arakhľam). Nadžanas či hin len pašal peste lačhe second handy, vaj lenge
o uravibena phiravel varesavi charita. O Dežis vakerel, sar savore našade e buťi. Sostar akor dživen? La podporatar,
varekana the varesavi brigada pes arakhel. The paš o kher hin dosta buťi.
La sikľarďake o Dežis opregiľaďas saranda giľora, savendar oj kamel te del avri giľutňi. La sikľarďaha na sas amen
bacht pes te arakhel. Phučas pal o rašaj. O Dežis na phirel andre khangeri, no vakerel: „Ta lačho hino, the oda so sas
angla leste sas lačho, no but adaj na ela.“ U oda imar soske? „No but les interesinen o Roma, le parnenge oda na ela pre
kedva.“ Manuš peske šaj gondoľinelas, hoj o parne ena lošane, hoj o Roma pes visaren ki o Del u andre pherďaren
o khangera. No dikhel pes, hoj e averzija hiňi khere the andro khangera. (Aja nane jekhto, aňi agorutňi).
E atmosfera murdaľol. Na sas but bari. E Eta sakovar vakerel, hoj oda nane oda, hoj našunel pes šukares, hoj nane
la kaha te giľavel. The tharďi samas te cinel. The thuvale. Sikra oda šigitinel, maj buter o Dežis udžanel amare darunki,
63
no o kerimata pes na keren. Phučas, či našťi avahas mek varekana masovar. E Eta la daha peske leperena pro aver giľa,
the e atmosfera šaj elas aver. Na kamel pes amenge te paťal, sava razancijaha amenge adi melancholikaňi džuvľi phenďas
na: „Giľaďom tumenge rakľijale, bo e Erika man mangelas. Buterval imar ke amende ma phiren, imar na giľavava.“
Tirinenas amen odoj? Te he, na prindžarďam oda. Vaš oda buter paľikeras.
Hin rat, šititno. The te sam dukhade, haranginas pre fara. Phuterel amenge terňi rašaskri romňi, so hiňi magistra
andre apatika Perješiste. Avel o rašaj Martin Mekel, maj sar rakloro. Le Romen prindžarelas imar andro seminaris,
phirelas Jarovňicate. Džanelas, hoj kamel te kerel le Romenca u sas lošalo, hoj Varhaňovcate hine but džene. Le rašaskri
romňi amenge čhorel tejos, pro skamind pes arakhel bari čokolada. Maj hin pal late. O Martin amenge kinaľinel le
avričhingerdes le Jonuf Kolejlas, the leskre čhas le Martinos vičininen les Benda. Skirinas peske varesave nava
Jarovňicatar, the te e realita amen šaj anel pro varesave aver thana, na ča odoj, kaj hin amaro planos.
O Martin uštel u džal andre khangeri. Odoj pes arakhela le romane ternenca. Mek sikra vakeras leskra romňaha.
Dikhas hoj hiňi lošaňi, hoj pes arakhľas sikra paše voďenca. Varhaňovcate ňikas naprindžarel. Prekal o ďives hiňi andre
apatika Perješiste, sar avel pale, lakre romes hin pherdo aktiviti. Šunel pes sikra korkori, našaďi, šaj avel hoj pro oda
sikľola. Akana lošanel pro ciknoro čhavoro.
Savore džas andre khangeri. Imar hin šititno. Džas prekal le rašaskri bar, perdal o kašta nadiťhol o uduta, no šaj džas
sar amen amare kana ľidžan. O giľavipen pes ľidžal pre sako sera. Uštaras andre. Šukar ikoni pro fali, savore jakha dikhen
pre amende. E Martina vakerel ko sam, varesaven prinďaras. Arakhľam pes lenca andre upruňi osada. Ako na kamelas
ňiko te giľavel, aľe akana: Oda kampel te šunel! E Marija Gaborova, le rašasaskro čačo vast, sthoďas nevi giľli u akana la
sikľon. Hin la roma lava pal o Del, the e melodija hiňi romaňi. La Marijakri čhaj hiňi sikľuvňi pre Romaňi džaňibnaskri
škola, vaj pro romano konzervatorium Kašate. Bešel anglal u bašavel pre gitara. Sighľuvas e giľi jekhetane savorenca.
Nadiťhol pes phari, no pro aver ďives na ačhiľas amenge andro šero latar nič. U paľis imar giľaven savoro, so prinďaren.
Šukar, šukares opre urde, šukares saginen terne manuša. Anglal ačhen o čhaja, o čhave radeder bešen seratar. Phares šaj
džanas, či phiren adaj ki o Del, vaj vaš oda, hoj šaj adari džan peskra čhaha khere. No giľaven sar te džalas pal o dživipen.
Sar andre giľi giľavenas „O partos pes prethoďas!“, pro jekh momentos kamľom te paťal, hoj ala giľa hin zor te prethovel
the e khangeri.
„But šukar, pro agor udut – u pro lungo maj bareder udut,“ pal oda skirinďas e Michalka.
64
Jana BELIŠOVÁ
BLACK-AND-WHITE WORLD
THERE IS NO POSTWOMAN LIKE A POSTWOMAN
here are four of us in our tiny, cute, and a bit shabby car. It is white. Its dependability... well nobody can predict
that. Lucia, Martin, and Števo study social work (I drive the car and I am the boss here). Lucia attends evening
courses in Bratislava and the boys are regular students at the Department of Romany Culture in Nitra. Lucia takes care
of a little Romany girl from an orphanage. As her foster mother, Lucia is very interested in Romanies, in their culture.
Both boys are musicians. Martin is more keen on music than the other one. Well, he also studied at the secondary musical
school (‘Conservatory’) in Košice, specializing in the cimbalom, an instrument similar to the hammered dulcimer. Anyway,
during the research he has shown us that he is able to play any musical instrument given to him. Besides that he speaks
the Romany language fluently, has seen Romany settlements, not only once but many times, unlike the vast majority of
students in his department. Quite simply, he is an ideal partner for our research.
It almost seems as if the gas station before Levoča has conjured a spell on us. We had to spend a really terrible night
with the broken-down car at the same gas station during our last field research trip. The repairman looks briefly at the
motor, he does something to it, and now the cute, old, shabby car is
driveable. I pray this is the last time we will have to stop here.
We get to Bardejov. We look at a cheaply furnished room in what we
are told is a hotel. We unpack our things. Now, what to do for the
evening? The twilight grows dark. We do not want to stay in our room,
and besides that, the spiritual father, Bessényi, from the Bardejov
settlement called Poštárka, which in Slovak means postwoman, waits to
meet with us tonight. So off we go!
As a gate between the white and black world stands a new church.
Beside it stands a pastoral center–Orátko–as everyone calls it here. Beško
welcomes us-that is the name everyone calls the priest. Next to him stands
Magda, the priest’s right hand, the verger and the superintendent of the
pastoral centre, as well as our guide.
That very evening she has organized singers and musicians. Milan
plays the accordion, Magda takes the guitar and our Martin is not to be
Magda, the parish priest’s right hand, the verger,
shamed, he plays both instruments. Later, he reveals to us that tonight he
the keyholder and the guide.
played the accordion for the first time in his life and that it was the first
time he heard most of the songs. We do not believe him as he gave us the
impression that he had been rehearsing with local Romanies every day. Well, he has a gift, I suppose!
In the corner on the table sits an old, slumped, Romany man wearing a blue windbreaker bearing the logo Adidas
and a red baseball cap. He looks kind of sad, as if he is meditating. After much persuasion, he sings for us. The song
describes how Romanies were put onto trains and transported to their doom in concentration camps. I do not know
when I cried the most, then or now when I listen to this song at home. The old man stops singing his song and refuses
to continue. He does not even tell us his name, he just sits, immersed in his sad world.
T
E mašina maj piskinel,
čore Romen maj ladinen.
Čore Romen avka roven,
bo len ľidžan pre šibeňa.
The train is whistling,
poor Romanies are loaded up.
Poor Romanies are crying so much
‘cause they are taken to the gallows.
E mašina maj piskinel,
čore Romen maj ladinen.
Roven, roven, čore Roma
sar len ľidžan pre šibeňa.
The train is whistling,
poor Romanies are loaded up.
They’re crying, crying, poor Romanies,
how they’re taken to the gallows.
Roma, Roma, ma roven
de, imar pale na avena.
Jaj, de mamo so kerava,
imar amen murdarena.
Romanies, Romanies, don’t cry,
you will not come back.
Alas, mother, what should I do?
We’ll be killed soon.
Poštárka 2001
67
It felt good to be with you, folks, but the exhausting journey and the late night hours take their toll. We go to bed
in the cold and damp ‘hotel’. Beško has invited us to stay at Orátko, but unfortunately, his invitation comes too late for
us because we paid for the whole week in advance.
We go our separate ways and we go to our cold rooms. Magda locks the door and gives Beško the key.
(Wednesday,October 17, 2001, Bratislava-Bardejov-Poštárka)
BEŠKO FROM ORÁTKO
e begin the second day in Poštárka. To provide entertainment for us our
hosts have invited Anna, a locally celebrated singer–a merry, smiling
woman in a black blouse with white notes. Her songs? She offers one after another
with such speed it leaves us breathless, and not just us. No one else in her presence
gets to sing, which is a pity, since Anna has trained for many years in a folklore
ensemble–in fact a Slovak ensemble. She has a typical eastern Slovak accent and
she sings like a real ‘Easterner’ and not like a typical Romany at all. She sings song
after song after song as if she is presenting us with a horn of plenty which
overflows with its bounty and rubs her hands together in joy over a job well
done–then hurries back home to her pots and pans. Two days later, they celebrate
a baby’s baptism in their house. While Anna is singing, her inconspicuous friend
sits closely beside me whispering the songs’s lyrics in my ear, both in Romany and
later in Slovak.
W
A famous singer, Anna,
in a note-patterned blouse.
Te me džava pre oda koda hedžos,
postretňindžom čhajora romaňa.
Av ča, av, de Aňičko,
poťešin man, poťešin.
On my way to the hill
I met a Romany girl.
Come, just come, Annie,
delight me, make me happy.
Soske me tut te poťešinava,
kana te me na som tiri piraňori.
Bo tu ures čhindo gad,
me man tuha na kamav.
Why should I delight you,
when I’m not your girlfriend?
Since you’re wearing a torn shirt
I don’t want to be with you.
Užar, Hančo, se tu bajineha,
sar me tajsa andre škola džava.
Andre škola, Bartvate,
pešones man aveha.
Wait, Hannah, you’ll regret it
when I’ll go tomorrow to school.
To school, to Bardejov,
you’ll go with me by foot.
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
Paš o paňi Roma giľaven,
giľaven jon giľori romaňi.
So tu šaj keres,
Romale, kas tu vičines,
Romale, so me kerava
mire čhavorenca.
Laj la laj la..
Romanies are singing at the river,
singing a Romany song.
What can you do,
Romanies, who are you calling,
Romanies, what will I do
with my children?
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
68
Phendžom tuke čhaje,
me tut goďi diňom.
So tuke chudeha,
pre ma na pheneha, joj.
I told you, girl,
I gave you wisdom
Whatever man you catch,
you’ll not say it was me, oh.
A tu tuke chudňal
čhavores pro vasta,
a me mange chudňom
lanci pre mre vasta.
Laj, laj, la...
You have caught
a child in your arms,
And I have caught
chains on my hands.
Lai, lai, la...
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
Oda hadžos kajso baro,
thoven man pre leste.
Thoven man pre leste,
kaj zdravo te avav
paš mire čhavore.
That bed is so big
I will be put on it.
I will be put on it
to get well again
beside my children.
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
Paš o paňi bešel
i tri daj pre ma phares rušel.
Ma de pr’oda ňič,
či ča me tut kamav.
I’m sitting at the water,
and your mom is very angry with me.
Disregard it
if only I love you.
So tuha vakerav,
tri daj pre man phares rušel.
Pašal man pregeľas,
manca na vakerdžas.
When I’m talking with you,
your mum is very angry with me.
She passed me by,
didn’t say a word.
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
Mek me jekhvar kamav
kaj zdravo te avav,
kaj me pr’ola dvori
smutna te giľava,
kaj man mri daj, mro dad
odoj te šunena.
Imar na bijina,
chodz te bi merava.
Once more I want
to be healthy,
to be able in our yard
to sing a sad song,
so that my mother and my father
could hear me there.
I care no more
even if I die.
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
As times passes, we become more and more restless. For two days we have lived in the clean and sterile Orátko; we
are not seeing how the Romanies live, what their rooms look like, what they cook for lunch...maybe they are shy. Orátko
is clean, disinfected. We explain to them that we have no aversion to a less sterile environment. Magda finishes her duties
at the school.
She teaches there because Beško had established the first two grades of elementary school for the Romany children
in Orátko. At first, they attended the normal town school, but because they could not easily adapt to the norms of the
town school, and the teachers and parents of non-Romany children complained about them, they begin their education
in Orátko for two years. It helps them to socialize and be accepted later among the non-Romany children in the third
grade.
Beško slides into his seat as he joins us in the car for our journey to Zborov. We load the accordion into the
trunk–maybe we can use it.
We go to Zborov. Magda and Beško both know Karol Šivák who lives in the village. Once a Michael Jackson
imitator and the king of discotheques; today he is a changed man due to finding faith in God. He is a naively
straightforward Romany missionary; in fact, his zealousness is such, that we are afraid that something may happen to
him. In the middle of settlements where he has friends he builds simple crosses and freqently prays at these crosses. He
69
also invites local people to join him in his prayers. There is never a lack of flowers by Karol’s crosses. He has a nice voice
but his repertoire is not even close to the pure Romany music we are looking for as part of our research.
Karol wants to live differently than his less tidy and less sober fellow-countrymen of whom he is ashamed. Through
his righteousness, he isolates us from the everyday Romany once more.
He introduces us to an amazing musical family–the Šiváks who live in the village. They are the only Romany
family on their street. The old lady tells us about their unhappy way of life on their street. Nobody speaks to her in the
shops, many people do not even return her greeting when she addresses them. The young daughter-in-law expresses it
openly–they do not want to talk with Romanies. Such is the fate of those who are different. They do not belong to the
Romany village anyway, but non-Romanies still do not accept them. They are glad that they got out of the Romany
settlement, but sometimes they regret it because of the rejection by their neighbours.
The father, Ján, with the grandfather, Karol, want to play for us, but they need little Janko, Ján’s son, who is the
cimbalom player. We go to look for him at the soccer fields. Janko is quite happy to exchange his soccer ball for cimbalom
sticks. His younger brother, Maroš, joins the family band–he is so tiny it looks as if the double bass may crush him at
any time. Standing beside it he looks like a dwarf. Size notwithstanding, he plays it well. The family sent ten year old
Janko to music school in Bardejov to learn the cimbalom, but after a year it is not the teacher who teaches Janko, but Janko
who teaches the teacher. The band plays, the landlady makes coffee, and she puts some biscuits and mineral water on
the table. She shows us photographs of the performances of her husband and brother-in-law. The old grandmother
sometimes joins us in singing the songs, complaining that her voice does not serve her as well as it used to.
Martin is immersed in chatting with our Romany hosts and playing music. He has found in the Šivák family his
relatives, who are also musicians like him. Martin praises the Šiváks musical skill, and, he smiles to show how good it is
to play music with friends. But family or not, we must go home. Once more we have not
managed to travel to the settlement.
It is dark. I cannot find the car keys. We are all looking for them, looking around,
here and there. Shall we walk to the hotel? Janko looks in the car and shouts, “The key is
in the car!” Hooray, but how can we get to it? Janko has the solution in his hand. He makes
a loop with a small wire and slips it over the lock to the trunk of the car, and it is open.
Janko slides into the back seat and opens the front door. What a dear boy he is-although I
have not been able to lock the trunk properly ever since. We make an appointment with
Karol ‘Michael Jackson’ Šivák for the next day. We insist on going to the settlement. If he
comes with us he will be able to help us very much. He has reservations. We tell him that
we understand about settlements; we have been to several before (at least some of us).
Can we make it for the children’s mass in Poštárka? We can! Children bring their
boomboxes (radios) to the front of the altar, so that they ensure their music is silent and
they can hear God’s voice more clearly. They also bring to the alter salt, a stick, wine and
other things that are symbolic of what they want to give up or want to use for a good cause.
They altogether choose the symbolic offering. Beško tells us how he, although a white
Slovak, chose to become a ‘Romany’ priest twelve years ago. When he was given a Bardejov
Romany neighbourhood parish, a black parish, he did not know quite what to expect. But
he wanted to do his best and he did his best, indeed. Even though in the beginning of his
ministry he was neither good enough in the eyes of non-Romanies from nearby
neighbourhoods, nor in the eyes of his brothers in faith with the same vocation. He was
One of the Karol’s crosses-on Vatrisko
‘merely a Gypsy priest’–a brave, lonely runner, who Romanies today love and call him, with
near Zborov.
affection, Beško. When the settlement was first established, with the support of the
Netherlands foundation they built a Romany church, which in present day is visited by
neighbourhood non-Romanies, as well.
In addition to the church, in the building there is a pastoral centre in which there is a carving and carpentry
workshop, fitness centre, and club room. Outside is a playground for the children. The enrichment of its parish from this
diverse pastoral centre is surely a major reason why young people in Poštárka are not drug addicts. Playing soccer is more
important for Romany boys than causing dangerous–stupid mayhem. And what does Peter Bessényi say? Behind the
material poverty is hidden a great spiritual poverty, and if one does not heal the spiritual poverty, even millions of dollars
of material assistance will not help. And that is where the power of individual people becomes important–those who are
willing to live in the Romanies’ world, to work in their environment, to be ready to give them concrete help with the
courage to give wise advice with no safety net to catch them. Thank you, Beško, for doing this.
(Thursday, October 18, 2001, Bardejov-Poštárka, Zborov)
GLITTERING EYES IN THE DARK
nd evening and the morning of the third day came. We leave Magda to help at the elementary school in Poštárka.
Arrangements have been made to meet Karol ‘Michael Jackson’ Šivák in the Romany neighbourhood of blocks of
flats. As soon as we arrive we notice one of Karol’s crosses–we will see its double later. We stand and wait while some of
the neighbourhood children go to find Karol and bring him to us. Once again, he wants to avoid the settlement. We
finally persuade him to act as our guide. We already know the way. In the settlement of blocks of flats he seeks musicians
A
70
and singers who live in the neighbourhood to perform some of the
Romany music we are researching, but he has no success. Some of the
musicians promise him that they will play later because in their
environment it may mean never. What are we going to do now? We decide
to go to the settlement, which is called Vatrisko (a big fire, in Slovak). It
appears to be lost two or three kilometres behind the village. We park the
car in a small muddy valley. Apart from the dirt and the poverty, we are
struck by the dimensions, that is the smallness, of the cottages. We feel as
if we have entered the country of Lilliputians. Small houses and big
dogs–there are a lot of big dogs everywhere with their tails between their
legs. Some of them peer at us with suspicious glances. However, it seems
that is all they are able to do. I remember when a big dog bit me many
years ago and I have to resist the urge to grab Martin’s or Števo’s hand
and hide behind his back.
Martin takes a step astride the local mud in his cool shiny
Many people are drunk. However, we have arrived at the time when
shoes, and a smile illuminates his face.
they receive their social benefeit checques and are not surprised. An old
lady walks past us with a full backpack; she is carrying many cabbage
heads, and further away we see another woman who is pushing a baby carriage in which is a full month’s supply of food
and other items. Karol proudly shows us a cross he has built in the settlement. Two small children sit under it smiling at
us shyly. We are seeking singers and musicians for our Romany research project. We catch sight of some of them, but
they disappear again. It helps that Martin and Karol are Romanies, but it does not change the situation because everyone
is too embarassed and ashamed of their state of poverty to invite us into their cottages. So, the musical performance
begins outside with the dogs. Martin spontaneously picks up the accordion. In his shiny, playboy shoes he plays a
concert, legs astride, standing in the local mud.. He smiles as he plays for the local, drunk, guitar players. Martin is just
fine. The microphone, however, records the howling of the chill October wind rather than the music.
Marcela, a young woman, who is a friend of Karol, invites us to her place. We wade through muddy Lilliputian
streets; we wave at the children sitting on the fences; we avoid dogs, excrement and trash. We have to duck to walk into
Marcela’s cottage. A small, modest kitchen, its packed earthen floor is so clean you could eat off it. The entire kitchen is
green. With Marcela’s permission I peer into one of her rooms–it is entirely pale sky blue, the bed, the curtains, a
decorative saucer on the wall, everything. Everything in its place as it should be.
Nearly twenty people are squashed together inside this small house–it feels as if we are quintuplets in the uterus.
Despite this, some women even manage to dance. I am given the place of privilege on a chair in the corner.
One of the guitar players from our street concert has joined the party–the women sing and dance, he sings and plays,
Karol is smiling. He can see his fears were groundless.
Te del o Del lačho gives,
kaj te keras oda bijav.
Te na bijav choča boňa
kaj te khelen čorore Roma.
Let us hope God grants a good day
so that we make the wedding feast.
If not a wedding, a christening then,
so that poor Romanies could dance.
O Bože muj, so daje hin,
či te merel, či te dživel?
Te, Devla, amen meraha,
so čhaja, amen, keraha.
Oh my God, what’s happened with the mother,
is she dying or living?
God, if we die,
what, girls, will we do?
Jolana Cinová, Vatrisko 2001
Čhaje, čhaje barikaňi,
te na lel tut oda paňi.
O paňori tu te lena,
o čhavore del rovena.
O paňori tu te lena,
So, čhajore, de kerena?
Girl, proud girl,
let the water take you away.
If the water carries you away,
children will weep.
If the water carries you away,
what, girls, will you do?
Jolana Cinová, Vatrisko 2001
As we walk with Marcela back to the blocks of flats she tells us her life story. She attended high school, but when she
met her present huband–it brought an end to her studies–a baby was born. Marcela teaches her only child, a little girl, with
very strict schooling. She has no other ambition but that her little girl becomes educated and escapes the poverty of Vatrisko.
Marcela’s husband works in the Czech Republic because he earns more money there–it is still not enough to move out of the
settlement. Marcela would like to graduate from secondary school–she understands that being educated is important. I assure
her that it is a good idea because she is still young enough.
71
She is overprotective of her small daughter, not allowing her to play
with other children. At school, she is one of the best pupils. In this
culture, if a Romany wants to achieve something, they must try twice as
hard to succeed. Everyone says that–and it is true. As we approach the
block of flats we see some large, wooden statues carved by Daniel, a local
sculptor. We plan to visit him. At his home he has many other statues, but
much smaller than those in the yard. Daniel leads us to his yard. He
proudly poses beside a nude, female statue of superhuman dimensions.
We take a picture of him with his nude and promise him a print. (We
fulfilled our promise to him.) I take home a smaller version of the nude
woman in the yard, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.
Karol takes us for a visit to his home. He is embarassed because his
father, who is a little drunk, is argumentative. Karol does not like this. He
likes modest people better. Someone has invited a blind, lady singer who
is so shy she attempts to hide by wrapping herself in the pink drapes
hanging by the window. We do not insist that she sing for us. Karol tells
us a lot about his childhood. He introduces his wife to us, but in shyness
she runs away to her baby in the other room.
Paľikerav mra sasake,
oda lačha manušňake.
Joj, man diňa lačhe romes,
kija mande valušnones.
The woodcarver, Daniel, with his statue.
I’m grateful to my mother-in-law,
to such a good person,
she gave to me a good man,
suitable for me.
Karol Sivák, Sr., Zborov 2001
Even though we have enjoyed our visit with Karol, we must leave to continue our research.
Back in Poštárka, the singer Anna invites us to her home. She seems to remember other Gypsy songs, too. Following
customs, we pretend not to want to go. Anna persuades us that we are welcome. She is baking a cake for her baby’s
baptism the next day...the kitchen is redolent with the smells of sweet cakes. Anna manages to do everything. She knows
when to switch off the oven which holds the baked cake, she pours chocolate liqueur for us, she babysits a grandchild,
and she sings so much that no one can get a word in edgewise–not even her daughter with the beautiful, velvet voice. I
cajole Anna to allow her daughter to sing at least a couple of songs–they are amazing, full of tenderness.
Sar me khere džajľom,
Džoni Wolker piľom,
Džoni Wolker piľom,
kaj lestar mačiľom.
When I was going home
Johnie Walker was I drinking.
Johnie Walker was I drinking
and got drunk from it.
Marcela Dreveňáková, Poštárka 2001
Šuki prajta na čerkinen
de the balval na phurdel.
Jaj, de počoral pes kamas,
de la datar pes ladžas.
Phendžas mange mri piraňi,
že pes na rozdžaha.
Dry leaves don’t rustle,
the wind is not blowing.
We love each other secretely
don’t ask our mothers.
My sweetheart had told me
that we wouldn’t break up.
Na džanav piraňori,
či pes na rozdžaha.
Ola prajtora čerkinen lačhes,
na džanav piraňori,
či pes na rozdžaha.
I do not know, my girl,
if we won’t break up.
Those leaves are rustling nicely,
I do not know, my girl,
if we won’t break up.
Hin man lestar duj čhavore,
mek jov man na kamel.
Joj de počoral pes kamas,
la datar pes ladžas.
Phen tu mange, mri phuri daj,
či pes na rozdžaha.
I have two children with him
and he still does not want me.
Alas, we love each other secretly,
but we are afraid of my mother.
Tell me, my grandmother,
if we won’t break up.
Marcela Dreveňáková, Poštárka 2001; Žehňa – Hurka 1988; Justína Dunková, Dreveník – Žehra 2001;
Béla Pokuta, Irena Pokutová, Žehra – Dreveník 2001; Bystrany 2001; Vechec 2002; Soľ 2002; Hermanovce 2002;
Dlhé Stráže 2002
73
But the mother, Anna, has already remembered another song and she sings and sings and sings.
Phundrav, dalke, phundrav,
phundrav vudaroro,
avel tuke khere
tro ľubo čhavoro.
Open, mommy, open,
open the door,
coming home is
your very dear son.
Le gaveha džava,
phabaj čhingerava.
Joj, ko pašal ma džala,
sakones me dava.
I’ll walk through the village,
I’ll pick apples.
Aye, whoever passes by me
I’ll give one.
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
I na šadžom me o khosnoro
tele le partoha,
te me oda hiros šundžom,
so imar but berš kerdžas mro pirano.
Joj, mro Deloro, so te kerel,
ačhiľom korkoro.
I lost a scarf
at the foot of a hill.
When I heard the news
about what my husband has been doing for years.
Alas, my dear God, what should I do
I was left alone
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
Chud man vastestar,
phen mange jilestar,
či but me dživava,
kana me merava.
Mamo, miri mamo,
but nasvaľi me som,
o dochtoris avla,
sar me meravas.
Hold my hand,
tell me from your heart,
whether I’ll live long,
when I will die.
Oh mama, my mama,
I am very sick,
the doctor came
as I was dying.
Mar, mar, mar, tu miro, miro jiloro.
Mar, mar, mar, mang, le Devles vaš miro čhavoro.
Pound, pound, pound, you, my little heart.
Pound, pound, pound, pray to God for my child.
Anna Michalíková, Marcela Dreveňáková, Poštárka 2001
I sas man jekh nevi kurtka čista kotora.
Jaj avenas, mek sas feder,
kaj la man na sas bari.
Me pre koda ňič nada,
e moľori popijav,
muzikanta bašavena,
me tuke dava.
I had a new skirt made of mere pieces.
Oh, they came and had one even better.
‘cause mine wasn’t that big.
I don’t care much about it,
I’m drinking some wine,
musicians will be playing,
I’ll give myself to you.
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
Perješiste geľom,
mindžar hiro šundžom.
Mindžar hiro šundžom,
že Božena muľa.
I went to Prešov,
immediately I heard the news,
immediately I heard the news,
that Božena is dead.
Lakeri dajori
rovelas piščinlas.
Rovelas, piščinlas,
pre late vičinlas.
Her dearest mother
was crying, was weeping,
Was crying, was weeping,
was shouting at her.
74
Be watchful, Romanies,
‘cause they’re carrying her.
‘Cause they’re carrying her
downhill over there.
Ara, ča Romale,
bo ma imar la anen.
Bo la imar anen
tele le partoha.
Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
Again, we must leave. The yet to be baptized baby begins to cry, his mother bares her breast to feed him and we
gather our things to leave.
Outside Anna’s house we meet Beško. In confidence we tell him that we want to continue our research of Romany
music somewhere else, as well. He thinks a minute, then he sends for a young man he knows, who arrives his body
drenched in sweat, his hands covered in white lime paint. They are decorating at home. We protest–we do not want him
to quit work and go with us. But the wishes of our spiritual father are stronger. Our new friend washes his hands and
face in the washroom at Orátko. Our new friend’s story is that although he is from Lascov, he married a girl from
Poštárka and moved there. We do not have even the faintest idea where Lascov might be. I blindly obey his
directions–and turn the steering wheel where he tells me to. We drive forever on an unpaved, muddy and empty road.
We do not know if we are going east or west. On the second day, I find out that according to the map going by highway
would have been only a bit longer than this rough shortcut.
We arrive at the settlement at sunset. The twilight covers us in dark, but for the time being nobody minds. An old
man comes to greet us, he hugs me and claims I am a Romany, too. I do not protest–I just laugh. Our guide immediately
disappears to find his family. The singers meet in the first house. On the sofa sits a woman who claims she sings her best
when she is singing with her mum. OK, I say, I will go and get her. I bravely walk alone up an unknown settlement road
acompanied only by a couple of children and dogs. I find the cottage. As I enter the house I see a tableau which takes
my breath away and leaves me speechless. Sitting on the dirty, earthen floor are several kids gnawing away on small
bones. It seems as though eyes glitter at me from every corner. In this darkened hovel, I see by the empty expressions on
some of the childrens’ faces, and by the blankness of their eyes, that they have no understanding of their world or of my
presence there. Poverty strikes the Romanies on many levels.
The singer’s old mother sits on the bed and after a few friendly words from me begins to cry. She has eleven children,
but not even one is as poor as the daughter who lives with her in this horrible hole. On top of this heart-rending poverty,
her daughter is also losing her eyesight. She needs an operation to save her eyes, but they have no money to pay for it.
The old lady’s face is covered with tears–I feel that it is tactless of me to call on her to sing now.
Štefan appears in the door of this stinking hole. I think he was worried about me because I had been gone for such
a long time. The old grandmother comes along with us with little persuasion needed. Some of the children huddle in the
middle of the room, stare at us silently, eyes glittering. The old grandmother takes hold of my arm so that she will not
stumble and fall. Someone stands outside in the darkness in front of her daughter’s house–she speaks to someone, but I
do not know with whom. We go inside without the old lady. The daughter sings two or three songs for us, but she misses
her mother’s help with the singing.
My heart is heavy
as my mother’s dying, keeps telling me,
as my mother’s dying, keeps telling me,
that she entrusts children to me.
Phares mange andro jilo
te e daj merel, mange phenel.
Te e daj merel, mange phenel,
hoj le čhaven mange mukhel.
Juhásová, Lascov 2001; Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
I go outside again to find the grandmother and find myself running for my life. The old man, the same one who
hugged me, is shouting foul obscenities at the old lady. She, in turn, is furiously shouting back at him, then she slaps
him. The old man is not about to be cowed by an old woman–he picks up a good-sized stick and hits her with it. The
grandmother falls down with a terrible scream. I am scared and run into the house, not understanding what is going on.
The singers from inside run out to discover what the fight is about and begin yelling and screaming. Inside the music
room the four of us shrug our shoulders in resignation and pack our microphones and accordion as quickly as we can.
As we begin to leave, Martin stops to speak briefly with the the beaten-up grandmother’s daughter. Even though
Martin is a Romany, he does not even understand what happened to solicit the violence. He says to her in Romany that
he is ashamed of Romanies who will assault each other like this. All of them nod in agreement with their heads bowed
down in shame. Later in the car, Martin explains to us that the old man was drunk which made his thinking paranoid–he
was afraid that we would take the old lady away and sell her. That was why he attempted to stop her from coming to
meet with us. In shock and somewhat tongue-in-cheek I say, “Who would want to buy an old Romany grandmother?!”
We do not go back to Lascov.
(Friday, October 19, 2001, Zborov–block of flats, Vatrisko, Poštárka, Lascov)
75
HIPPOCRATIC OATH? AND WHAT IS THAT?
ucia gets sick. Staying in a cold hotel with no hot water to bathe in makes her ill after only the first night and the
illness becomes more serious as the days pass. We cannot put off taking her to a doctor any longer. We drop the boys
off in Poštárka, leaving them in the hands of friends, the ladies who cook for the kindergarten. As for us girls, another
bad experience awaits us. This time it is with a non-Romany–it is with a doctor who has taken the Hippocratic oath.
Although we are the only patients in his waiting room, he chooses to leave us sitting there and goes to have his lunch.
He returns in an hour. When he finds out that Lucia is not from his town he begins to question her about what has
brought her as far away as Bardejov. Lucia tells him about our research trip to record Romany songs. The doctor is
clearly repelled by Lucia’s physical presence in his office. As soon as he knows that we have been in contact with
Romanies he will not even touch Lucia and will only speak to her from a position of safety–across the room. Finally, he
tells us that if she visited Cigeľka, he will not medically treat her because he has been told there is jaundice there. The
fact is, Cigeľka is our most immediate target. As I leave his office, I ask myself how he would treat a Romany woman
when he treated a white girl–Lucia–like this? Besides this, he is–unlike us–vaccinated against jaundice.
Back in Poštárka, the boys are enjoying the wonderful food given to them by our friends, the kindergarten cooks.
We can hardly pry them out of there.
Let me return to fearful Cigeľka. Cigeľka is famous for its healing mineral waters used for curing the ills of digestion.
This Romany settlement on the border of Poland has no resemblance to Vatrisko and its small, Lilliputian-sized houses.
In the spirit of local tradition, the houses are large, log houses. Some of them are also painted–the wood on them dark,
almost black, window frames white.
When we arrive in Cigeľka, a group of local kids saunter past us not acknowledging our presence–not even one brave
person invited us to their house. As we walk down the road, we pass some of the most recently built houses, of brick
construction and attractive design. We chat with the owner of one unfinished house. He does not look like a Romany
and in the end result, in fact, he is not–he married into the settlement. He and his wife take care of an invalid
grandmother in a wheelchair. As a couple, they have been unable to have children and tell us they want to adopt some
from an orphanage. This man has the keys for the chapel which was built on the fringe of the settlement–it provides a
gate between the Romany and non-Romany sections of the village.
We enter the chapel followed by a group of children. Before we allow them to enter with us we make a hard
selection. We allow inside only older children who can sing well. Now, some adults also arrive. One man takes our
accordion and plays. The children get themselves organized. Those who will sing, stand in the front as if performing.
They resist the fear of performing in such a way that they hold tightly to each other and rock with the rhythm of the
song. If they fail sometimes they hold each other even more tighly. Outside, the invasion of children who are not let in
grows bigger and bigger. They knock on the door and on the stained glass
windows, I guess they also throw stones. Several times our guide goes out
and silences the crowd with a thundering voice. But after some time even
this does not work. We give up. We take a picture of us and the children
in front of the chapel. At first, in a normal position, then with our hands
raised up. They run after our car for some time in a group of two or three
children, but then they begin to go back.
In the neighbouring village there is also a Romany settlement and
we have time enough to visit it before the evening falls. The village is
called Petrová and the settlement is completely hidden in the valley
beneath the road. It has typical Romany architecture. Several blocks of
flats in the beginning and then cottages, not clapboard houses as there are
in the neighbouring settlement, Cigeľka. We tell the crowd of people what
we want. More and more villagers arrive and we have to explain again and
again why we are there. Suddenly, a young man grabs my shoulder with
One violin for the first violinist; the other, homemade,
familiarity and calls me by name. I cannot immediately remember where
for the second violinist.
I know him from. He whispers to me, “I am from Žehňa, but I married a
girl from this place.” Now I remember–it is Ilona’s son, Dezider. I tell
him, “You are a gift from heaven-help us to organize the Romany
musicians here.” Dežko willingly nods in agreement, he will help us, he keeps on smiling to acknowledge that we know
each other, but in a few moments he disappears and never reappears again. Is his wife afraid that we are going to sell
him? However, the local musicians can organize themselves. They need some time to do it, though. Some of the men
extricate themselves from the chaotic, noisy crowd and begin looking for their instruments, and at last they lead us to
the block of flats. We enter their flats, unexpected and uninvited guests.
The music starts. Two violins. One for the first violin, the other for the second violin. The other violin is hand-made
by Romanies. The accordion is ours, I can see a guitar player and finally, the drummer is here. He has got drums, but he
has no drumsticks. A creative woman hands him wooden spoons. At first the drummer is a little embarassed, but then
he completely forgets what he is playing with. There are a lot of musicians here. Martin looks at them with
disappointment. He will probably not be able to play now. I understand his disappointment. They are not musicians like
any of the other we have heard–they are very good musicians, and well-rehearsed. A wonderful harmony exists among
them. They intuitively follow each other’s eye signals–it is as if some invisible power pushes their bodies closer and closer
L
78
together until they have no space for playing. When they find out they cannot play because they don’t have enough
space, they move in another direction, and in a short time they end up in the same position as before.
There is a slight problem with the singers. Some say that a couple of girls sing out of tune. I cannot judge in that
crowd and with the musical accompaniment of the instruments. (Now, when I listen to the recording at home I find out
that the men were right.) They push the two girls out the door. Instead of them, three other girls begin to sing. But only
for a short time. Dissatisfied, the men send them away. I hope for the third time it will be O.K. Hopefully. This time the
boys take the microphone into their hands. And I have to admit, they are a diffeent cup of tea–there are two of them.
One sings at the top of his lungs–his face turns red with effort, the veins in his neck begin to bulge, he closes his eyes.
He sings well, but his voice is tight with stagefright. His partner, the drummer’s son, acts as if his singing has nothing
to do with him. But he sings like an angel, his voice is fluid and full of emotion although it does not show on his face.
He sings about a hospital and about a dying mother. These two singers are followed by a wonderfully handsome boy
with an unbelievably gravelled voice. Brilliant.
Andr’odi špitaľa
štar vilaňa labol.
Čak odoj na labol, joj,
kaj miri daj pašľol.
In the hospital,
there are four lights on.
There’re just no lights on
where my mother’s lying.
Pašľol joj mar pašľol,
de andr’odi kaľi phuv.
Ča odoj na labol, jaj,
kaj miri daj pašľol.
She’s lying, lying,
in the very black ground.
There’re just no lights on
where my mother’s lying.
Imar joj de pašľol,
de andre di kaľi phuv.
Pre lakero šero, jaj,
mire apsa čuľon.
She’s already been lying
below the black ground.
Oh, there on her head
my sad tears are falling.
Milan Miko, Martin Bíly, Petrová 2001; Tomáš Sivák, Petrová 2001; Tuhriná 1994;
Marcela Dreveňáková, Poštárka 2001; Žehra 2001; Rudňany 2001; Božena Gunárová, Klenová 2002; Podskalka 2002;
Martinka Ďuďová, Soľ 2002; Dana Tišerová, Betlanovce 2002
Geľom pro nadraži,
de mra dake užarel.
Mra dake užarel
hi bare jivenca.
I went to a train station
to wait for my mother.
To wait for my mother
in the very deep cold.
Avel joj, avel joj
rozmukhle balenca.
Rozmukhle balenca
rovňake jakhenca.
There she’s going, going,
with the flowing hair.
With the flowing hair,
with the weeping eyes.
De kana maro čhinav,
banges pre man dikhes, mamo.
Ma dikh pre man banges,
bo me ňič na chaľom.
When I’m slicing bread,
you’re looking crossly at me, mom.
Don’t look at me crossly
because I ate nothing.
Džav ke miri, mri dajori,
sar man dukhal miro šero.
Miro šero la dukhate,
ola mire churde čhave.
To my, my mother I’m going,
when my head is aching.
My head is in pain,
those little kids of mine.
Milan Miko and Martin Bíly, Petrová 2001; Jareček 2001; Hermanovce 2002
Oda kalo čirikloro
mangel mandar mro jiloro.
Di mangel, mangel, sig te merav,
ča le čhaven te na dikhav.
The black bird
is asking for my heart.
Is asking, asking me to die sooner
just not to see the children.
Abranovce 1995; Milan Miko and Martin Bílý, Petrová 2001; Magda Miková, Poštárka 2001;
Marinka Holubová, Markušovce 2001; Jareček 2001; Soľ 2002; Hermanovce 2002; Janovce 2002
79
Oda kalo čirikloro,
pisin mange o ľiloro.
Pisin, pisin mra romňake,
ola lačha manušňake.
Black bird
write me a letter.
Write, write to my wife
to that good person.
Dela o Del khere džava,
kijal mire pandž čhavore.
Pisin, pisin, mra romňake
ola lačha manušňake.
If, God willing, I go home
to my five children.
Write, write to my wife
to that good person.
Bystrany 2001
In the evening, we go to say good-bye to Poštárka. We feel at home there. The next morning we leave.
HEROES AND HEROINES
n our way back to Bratislava we still have to go to Svinia. The quality of the previous research recording session
was not good so we have to record these songs again. I challenge my dear colleagues to cope with it by themselves.
Well, they are experienced after the last week. I have to do some other things. I assure Lucia she does not have to be
afraid, because she has two brave ‘guardians’ to defend her in an unknown environment. So they agree. Within only an
hour my cell phone in my pocket rings. I can hear Martin’s frightened voice, “Come quickly and get us! We are standing
in the middle of the settlement all alone, Lucia has gone to some house and we do not know which one. There are big
dogs and many drug addicts here.” Well, what can I do with these brave ‘bodyguards’? I tell them to go to Lucia’s friend
in the white part of the village. (Milka teaches Romany children in Jarovnice.)
I quickly drive to Svinia. The boys are enjoying themselves at the home of our kind and friendly host and pretend
they are great heroes. There was such a big dog!
Lucia arives much later. With a smile on her face as always and quite self-satisfied she
tells us that she has found the same women who sang for us half a year ago as I suggested
to her. The women were more than willing to sing again, and quite to the contrary, were not
angry at all that we would ask them to. They told Lucia that since the last time they have
remembered other songs. They sang and cried and sang and cried–Lucia was not prepared
for this. At first she attempted to be sympathetic to one woman–but the woman did not pay
any attention to her at all. When the woman could sing no longer because of her crying,
her part was sung by another woman with no interruption in the music. The first woman
finally had cried enough tears and began to sing again. The recordings are really
perfect–they are both unique and full of human pain.
And the dogs?
Lucia had not seen any big dogs. She may have seen drug addicts, but she did not
even think of being afraid of them.
Milka tells us about young Romanies as she sees them. It is the most sensitive and
fragile who take drugs. Those who cannot cope with the pain of life after the floods. In
Jarovnice many people died during the flood and after that many people began to take
drugs. However, Milka knows one boy who has succeeded in quitting. His family helped
him a lot. Anyway, she also knows one boy who has died of an overdose. It is sad, very sad.
One of the saddest stories I have ever heard.
We have to go, we have a long journey ahead of us. In the car, Martin and Števo
transcibe
and translate the songs that we have not managed to finish so far. Anyway, they
The dogs in Svinia are not that big.
will not finish them even now, there are so many of them.
Lucia cannot seem to shake off her illness, the boys tease her that she has got a
Romany flu–a long and difficult one.
Goodbye, all you who have taken us in among yourselves and given us a part of you. I believe that we have also
given something of ourselves to you and that we all are a little bit wiser after these few days.
O
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Jana BELIŠOVÁ
PARŇI – KAĽI LUMA
LE HIPPOKRATOSKRI VERA? U ODA SO?
Lucija andal o šilalo hotelis bi o tato paňi, maj pal jekhto rat nasvaľiľas u o nasvaľipen hino ďivesestar pro ďives
rosneder. Našťi imar dureder othovas e vizita ko doktoris. Le čhaven lidžaha pre Poštarka ki o ranija kucharki andre
dajakri škola.
Amen rakľijen užarel pale aver nalačhi empirija. Akanake na Romeha. Doktoriha, savo iľas le Hippokratoskri vera.
The te andre užarďi samas korkore, džal ešebno pro dilos u avla pale jekha oraha. Sar avľas pro oda hoj e Lucija
nane adari,chudel te phučel, so la pro čačipen anďas andre Bartva. E Lucija vakerel pal o amare droma pal o romane
giľora. Andro doktoris lakre lava čačes avri vičinde kerde zoralo šuňiben. Ole momentostar pre pacientka ani o angušt
na thoďas, vakerel laha but dural. Pro agor phenel hoj te kerelas vizita the andre Cigeľka, aňi akor lake na delas doktoriko
šigitipen. Hoj odoj hin hepatitida. Maškar e duma, e Cigeľka hino amaro maj pašeder ciľo. Gondoľinav, sar ada doktoris
pes ľikerelas ki e romaňi džuvľi, te ki e parňi Lucija pes ľikerelas avka? Maj buter, pre diferencija amendar hino perdal e
hepatitida očkimen.
O čhavore maškar oda peske chanas školkariko zumin. Ča phares len pal e Poštarka chudňam.
No opre andre darangutňi Cigeľka. E Cigeľka hiňi džanľi sascabnaskreha mineralne paňeha pro pharibena le
chabnaha. E osada pre poľtiko hranica aňi sikrica na leperel e Vatra le kherorenca anglo liliputana. Avka sar hiňi adaj e
tradicija o khera hine bare, thule kaštendar, thanenca kolorika. O kašt pro kehra hino imar maj kalo, le blakengre rami
hine parne. Bari čhavorikaňi grupa pašal amende denašel prekal e osada, no na arakhel pes ňiko, ko amen šaj vičinelas
andre. Džas tele pašal o maj neveder khera, šukares murimen. Das pes andro vakeriben le manušeha saveskro kher mek
nane agorimen. Na diťhol avri sar Rom, pro agor pes sikavel, hoj aňi nane Rom. Andal e osada iľas romňa. La romňaha
pes starinen pal e phuri daj pro verdoro. Našťi len aven čhavore, u avka kamen varesave čhavoren peske te adoptinel
andol čhavorikano kher. Ale muršes hin o kľiji la khangeroratar, savi ačhel pro agor osadake. Pale sar e baro vudar –
brana maškar o duj kotoro – romano the na romano.
Džas andre khangerori u o čhavorikaňi grupa amenca. Anglo uštariben, zoralo avri kidipen. Andre mukas ča le
barederen čhavoren, save džanen mište te giľavel. Ale the vaj keci džene phureder. Jekh murš lel o akordeonos u bašavel.
O čhavero pes maj organizinde. Ola so giľaven, ačhile peske anglal sar pro avri uštaripen. E trema traden pašal peste
avka, hoj pes zorales obchuden u jekhetane pes čalaven andro la giľakro ritmo. Te vareso lenge na džal sar kampel, mek
zoraleder pes ki ja peste kikiden.
Avri zoraľol e čhavorengri invazija so len andre na mukhle. Maren pro vudar pro vitražova blaki, talam čhivkeren o
bara. Amaro manuš so phirel amenca, džal avri u zorale hangoha e čhavorikaňi vika agorinel. Na pal o charno vacht imar
aňi oda nane funkčno. Thovas amen tele. Prekal e khangerorakro vudar savore keras peske jekhetano foto. Maj sik
normalnones, paľis len vazdle vastenca. Sikra mek pal amende denašenas, paľis po duj, trin džene visaľonas pale. Mek
hin dosta vachti dži e rat u andro pašo gav hin aver romaňi osada. O gav pes vičinel Petrova u e osada hiňi garuďi andre
teluňi tel o drom. E architektura hin tipikaňi. Pro angluno agor vajkeci bitovki u paľis imar o čore kherora. Na kaštune
zrubengre sar Cigeľkate. Nabara manušengra grupake vakeras, so kamas. No aven aver džene u lenge kampel pale te
vakerel so kamas, soske avľam. Jekhvarestar man varesavo terno murš familijarnones chudel phikestar u phenel mange
pro nav. Našti mange andro jekhto momentos leperav, khatar les prinďarav. Phenel mange andro kan: Hino Žehňatar u
adaj iľas romňa. Džanav, oda la Ilonakro čhavo o Dežis. Phenav leske: Tu amenge peľal opral andal o ňebos. Šigitin
amenge oda adaj varesar te organizinel. O Dežkus kamles čalavel šereha, sakovar asal lošalo hoj pes prinďarďam, no
andro momentos našľol u imar pes na sikavel. So leskri romňi daral te les na bikenas?
O lavutara andal e osada pes džanen korkore te organizinel. Kampel lenge pro oda ča sikra vachti. Andal e
chaotikaňi grupa gele avri vaj keci džene murša u roden o inštrrumenti, pro agor amen ľidžan ki o bitovki. Džas andre,
the te odoj na sam užarde, aňi ňikaha vičimen.
O lavutara chuden te bašavel. Duj lavuti, jekh prekal o primašis, aver sar kontra. E kontra hiňi vastengri buťi. O
akeordeonos hino amaro, dikhav gitaristas u pro agor bubeňikos. La bubna hin, pacici na. E romňi leske del o varechi.
O bubeňikos ešebnovar pes cirdel pale, no paľis imar bisterel, soha bubninel. Lavutara hin dosta, o Martin pre lende ča
pharinaha dikhel. Akana peske na bašavela. Na čudaľinav pes, hoj hin leske phares. O lavutara oda hine but lačhe. Hine
mište zbašade. Dominantno maškar lende hin bari harmonija. Dikhen pre peste u varesavi na dikhľi zor len cirdel ki ja
peste pašeder. Sar imar len nane than pro bašaviben, pale sikra džan pašal peste, no andro jekh momentos hine pale paš
peste.
O giľavutne hine sikra problemos. Perdal amare jakha džal but bilačho konkurzos. Duj čhaja giľaven falošnones.
Andre odi vika u le bašavibnaha na džanav oda te kvalifikinel. (Pro oprebašaviben khere dikhľom, hoj le muršen sas
čačipen.) Ole dujen čhide avri pal o vudar. Akana avle trin čhaja. Aľe ča charnes. O na bikivel murša len bičhade pale.
E
81
Dži o trinval sa mište. Talam. Akana o mikrofonos len o čhave. U musaj som te uďanel: Oda hin aver kaveja. Hine duj
džene. Jekh giľavel sar pal e voďi. Hino andro muj lolo, o žili pre men hin oprephurdle, o jakha andre phandle. Giľavel
but mište, ča sikra tasades. Leskero amal, le bubeňikoskero čhavo (so duj džene bare simpaťaka) pes kerel, sar te o
giľavipen pes lestar na chudelas. No giľavel sar anďelos. Naphares, lokes, bare šuňibnaha, no pro muj leske oda na diťhol.
Giľavel pal e špitaľa, pal e daj so merel. Kale dujen pro momenti vatinel avri jekh simpaticko čhavo le bipaťabnaskro
tasade hangoha. But mište.
Raťi džas pes te odkidel pre Poštarka. Imar sam odoj maj sik sar khere. Pro aver ďives džas odari.
82
Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ
ANOTHER VIEWPOINT
OF THE STORY
WHEN REALITY LOOKS EVEN BETTER THAN
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DREAM
J
ana Belišová invited me to participate in a musicological research project collecting old Romany songs. She has
devoted many years to it, and having received grant money she has purchased recording devices and has made several
expeditions this autumn. The one we have made was the third in a row, this year’s last.
Our departure was set for Sunday. But as it happens on journeys like this our car went on strike. The cooling system
had to be replaced.
We finally set off on Tuesday at five a.m. Dark outside, dreadful weather, we can hardly see the way. We progress
quite slowly. We stop in Detva to collect another researcher, Maryška. She is a Romany activist, the head of the club Spolu,
Together, in Detva. For this purpose they remodelled a one-roomed flat in a big block of flats occupied by Romany nonpayers. There is a kindergarten in the flat–newly opened with 7 children enrolled so far. Only two of them are here now.
A kitchenette serves as an office. The club is busy with various activities, organizing Spievanky–singing competitions for
children from different cities; Maryška is the leader of the children’s folk chorus, Romka. On our way to Spišská Nová
Ves she receives a phone call and learns that the city council has approved ten employment positions for their building
repair. The unemployment payments of the Romany who will be employed during the building repair will be stopped.
Afterwards, they will go back to receiving the full payments.
Somewhere beyond Liptovský Mikuláš the left windscreen wiper begins to work improperly without any advance
warning. As if intending to look at the driver from the side it gets stuck on the side window and does not come back.
Every time I have to get out and show it the right way. In the end, a helpful petrol station service mends it.
We reach Spisšká Nová Ves around two o’clock and check into the hotel, Limba, close to the centre. Ravi, the fourth
of our team, is waiting for us at the reception desk. The accommodations look good, clean, warm, and there is hot water
in the bathroom.
On the phone, Janka looks for tips as to where to go. There are a few of them.
Markušovce and a blind singer, Marinka, are chosen to be the first.
The village of Markušovce is not very far from Spišská Nová Ves. A church watches the road from the hill. It’s quite
a big village with a renovated manor house. A few Romany stroll up and down the street. We choose one to ask if he
knows the blind singer. The answer is yes; she is his baba, grandmother. Not having seen his baba, I assume she would be
his grandfather’s cousin or the baba of his sister-in-law or at least the mother of his mother’s stepsister. We were supposed
to be led to a camp, but Marinka does not live there. She lives in a small house in the village. From the outside her house
looks only a little worse than the others in the neighbourhood. Behind the gate (a fence is not a common part of Romany
dwellings, or at least not of those I’ve seen so far, but we are in a village now), it becomes clear who the inhabitants of
the yard and the house are. Romaci as Maryška explains. A small dog barks at us from the yard. Five or six children. A
man appears a little above the ground at the window/door of the underground cellar, having chopped wood (men chop
wood a lot as we will see later many times). Our guide explains the purpose of our visit to him; Maryška helps in Romany
and Janka in Slovak language. We’ve heard about an excellent singer living there. We collect old songs and if she is
willing to sing some for us, we will record them. They will then be transcribed into notes and a small Romany songbook
will be published, as well as translated into Slovak (and English, too). In the songbook it will be stated that a particular
song originates from Marinka, precisely Mária Holubová from Markušovce.
The best songs will be made into a CD.
Each of the people we record over that week can be convinced that they will take part in the CD. The younger ones
may have hoped that our visit will help them somehow; they might make a new start; nearly each photo session lends
hope that they will see the pictures again in the future... They do not sing for us from their passion for folk or Romany
culture. They sing to have fun. Well, why not have fun if they are asked to sing? Although some of them will ask for a
bottle of alcohol or money as a reward.
We keep silent, more or less, Ravi and I. On this mission Ravi is in charge of recording songs on the mini-discman
and myself–well, I do not really know. With no chance to approach an object closely, I try to take pictures without
confidence in my fully automatic camera. We haven’t experienced any refusals to take pictures of anyone during our
expedition. Actually, it is quite the reverse. Some places I asked politely, other places I relied upon my intuition
regarding the necessity of asking for permission.
85
Markušovce is quite a big village. It is estimated that 1800 Romanies live
there. Marinka has no husband or child. The man who was chopping wood leads
us inside. He could be the singer’s nephew. Passing a small room we enter a door
on the right where the younger family lives; grandma probably lives on the left.
She is not in at the moment. In the kitchen are the nephew’s pretty, wide cheekboned wife, her daughter who is certainly under twenty, a small child who is too
old to have a pacifier in her mouth, and a baby, Marinka’s grandniece, swaddled
up in snow-white clothes. She cries; swinging and a bottle of tea calm her down.
Her pram is pushed up and down a narrow path between a cupboard and a table.
It is a hard task to get by it.
Besides the main entrance there is another door in the kitchen. Actually, there
is no door in the opening, but a bead curtain. We cannot see the size of the room
behind the curtain, but we do see plenty of duvets, blankets and mattresses.
Empty bottles and boxes of groceries and detergents are placed on the top of the
wardrobe to decorate the room. They may not really be empty, but they look as if
they are. For example, a milk carton is also there. A bottle of ketchup, too, as well
as rubber squeaky dolls. All are in a row like toy soldiers. On the walls is wallpaper
with distinct red flowers. A small decorative tablecloth under the TV set. A few
things on the table and on the cupboard. Not expecting guests, they did not have
time to tidy up. Kitsch round Disney Pocahontas pictures are hanging on the
walls. Among these is a picture of a saint. There are plenty of pictures and
While blind Marinka thinks about
decorations on walls. There is also a tapestry of the Virgin Mary, baby Jesus and
another song that she can sing, she
little angels; a bad imitation made of fabric.
puts her free hand on her
uncovered neck.
Marinka comes in. She really is blind. Her eyes are closed. She is told what
will happen next. She is shy. Sitting on a chair, her feet swinging a bit as they do
not touch the ground. Clutching a microphone that Ravi gives her, grandma feels
like a real singer and becomes more courageous. She puts the microphone too close to her lips. Ravi pulls her hand a
little bit away, but she keeps it close anyway and her voice is distorted. Ravi pulls again, Marinka bends closer to the
microphone until she is totally curved. Their hands fight. The microphone is here and there. Marinka sings. Her voice
is very nice. I find something about it provoking. Thinking of another song Marinka puts her free hand on her bare neck.
Jaj de čoro manuš me som,
te merel mušinav.
Te merel mušinav,
ola bara de žaľate.
A poor person I am,
I have to die.
I have to die
of a great sorrow.
Marinka Holubová, Markušovce 2001
Čiriklo pre oblačkica durkinel,
mri piraňi andro hadžos vriskinel.
Džan ča pheňa, džan phrala, te dikhel
e daj merel, bo mušinel, joj, Devla.
A bird is knocking on the window,
my dear’s screaming in bed.
Come sisters, come brothers, to look
our mother’s dying for she has to, God.
Marinka Holubová, Markušovce 2001
Jaj, de mro šukar pirano,
soske man na kames?
Phares tuke nane pre calo vilago,
o baro kamľiben, pro baro dživipen.
My charming boyfriend,
why don’t you want me?
You don’t have a hard life on the earth,
a great love for our whole life.
Jaj, de soske man na kames
mro šukar pirano?
Jaj de irindžom me pale mira dajorake
de joj mange pale o ľil na pisinďa.
Why don’t you want me,
my handsome boyfriend.
I wrote back to my mother
she hasn’t written me back.
Jaj de sidžar, mri čhaj sidžar
ke oda richlikos.
Jaj, de soske man na kames
mro šukar pirano?
Hurry up, hurry up my girl,
to the fast train.
Why don’t you want me,
my handsome boyfriend?
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Bajindžom me mre romestar,
bajindžom me šelvar.
Jaj de pale džava ke mre čhave,
jaj de mro jiloro man de bares dukhal
I took care of my husband,
I took care a hundred times.
Alas, I will go back to my children
alas, my heart is aching so much.
Marinka Holubová, Markušovce 2001
A tu, More, so tu kerdžal?
Bara lubňa mange mukhľal.
Keci dikhen, ajci kamen,
u mro šero diliňaren.
And you, boy, what did you do?
You left me a big slut.
How much they see, that much they want,
and they’re stringing me along.
Mirgi, Mirgi, mri piraňi,
bo sal lubňi barikaňi.
Keci dikhes, ajci kames
u man čores diliňares.
Mirgi, Mirgi, my dear,
you are a big slut.
How much you see, that much you want,
and you’re stringing me along, poor me.
Marinka Holubová, Markušovce 2001
Other people are also coming. Not many, just two older girls and a man. The atmosphere is calm when compared
with the situations and crowded households that are still ahead of us. It looks normal to me so far. Everything that is yet
to come will push my boundaries farther away. Without these experiences, I consider this a starting point.
At the end, the man who chopped wood in the cellar enters, too. He reveals the existence of their band; they also
play. If they knew about our arrival, they would have met. They do not have their instruments. Janka writes their address
down.
The man takes a bottle of a horribly, bluish-coloured liquor out of the fridge. Someone puts snifters on the table.
They could have been cleaner. Really. As the driver, Janka refuses to drink. I also try to avoid it saying something about
taking pills. One should not lie. Should I say that those glasses could be cleaner? An uncomfortable situation. Honestly.
And everyone knows it. Not just us. They know it, too. Offering a drink, if it even happens, is always very tentative and
reminds me of a test; it is as if they are trying to guess whether we will detest it or if we will accept it. Next time, I do not
refuse and I am glad. Ravi and Maryška don’t mind and drink. We say good-bye with a promise to come back sometime,
to send the pictures... One should not lie... We leave uncertain about exactly where to go. A small girl, about twelve,
who we have seen at Marinka’s, gives us advice. We turn left up the steep
hill at the end of a village. That does not look like a camp. We get out of
the car. Yes, it is a camp. Look, there is a carpet out in the snow. That must
be a Romany camp. Where else would one put a red carpet out in the
snow at dusk? We can hear dogs. One of them barking hostilely, lucky for
us, is chained up. They are probably rich here, Jana says. There are also
fences. And brick houses, too. Smoke rises out of chimneys. Pigs squeal
in cowsheds. Someone goes with us, followed by others. They take us to
their boss. The boss barely smiles. That, well, he is not the boss. A fat
Romany. No, they do not sing here anymore. They do not spend their
time this way. We should go to Jareček. It is getting dark. They can’t
advise us if it is a good idea to go there now. They explain how to get
there. On the way to our car a couple of children join us for a while.
We decide to try a Jareček despite the approaching night.
Mária is the oldest of five children.
We turn off in Markušovce and reach the end of the village. Driving
a little further we notice a deep and wide ditch on the right. There are
booths, toilets, and cellars there. At the end of the ditch we take a sharp
180-degree turn and reach the camp. A pub and a shop are situated in the valley. Houses climb up the hill. We try to drive
the car up the icy slope without success. We carefully back up the car and stop in front of the pub. Ours is the only car
here. With such manoeuvring we are easily spotted. A crowd of children surrounds us. Some smaller, some bigger, even
some adults. A real crowd of people. The crowd follows us.
By the way, what do we want? We collect old songs, provided somebody here in the camp will sing some for us. Well,
we heard they sing a lot here. We will record them and then transcribe them into notes and a small Romany songbook
which will be published, as well as translated into Slovak (and English too). In the songbook it will be stated that a
particular song originates from you or him from Jareček.
The best songs will be made into a CD.
Right away, they are absolutely sure where to take us. To someone with weak legs, therefore it is without doubt that
we will be the ones who have to go there and not vice versa. I begin to think about where we are heading and the elderly
people who are unable to move.
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Jareček is a big camp. Long. We go up the hill. Dogs are here, also. For
God’s sake, the biggest creatures are chained up. Some cottages are about to
fall down, without proper roofs; walls made of wooden timbers are falling
apart in the corners. It is dark. Lights wink in small windows. Is it an endless
camp? Lightly dressed people, children wearing only pullovers or shirts, some
in jackets. Water pump over the local ravine, they go there to fill various
dishes with water. Children are sliding down in the middle of the steepest
slope. They are sliding down on their bottoms, cracked sledges or bobsleds;
they also use plastic bags. Ice-skaters are here, too. An evening ice parade. We
must walk along the edge of the icy walk in order not to slip and fall. Finally,
we reach the target, one of the last little houses. A few steep steps and we enter
the house.
It is warm, cosy and clean inside. Something smells nice. A table with
chairs, a sofa, a wardrobe, small vases with artificial flowers, a heater. A
cuckoo clock. A small decorative tablecloth under the TV set. A small
decorative tablecloth on the makeup case. A string of artificial flowers hung
on the wall. We are seated around the table. The main musician will come
later. Sitting behind the table, close to the wall, I can see another room
(missing a door). I notice an old, double bed topped with duvets, covered
with white embroidered cloth; a kitsch doll dressed in folk costume sits on the
top. Large pictures of saints hang over the bed along with wedding portraits
of the residents. Some more “tapestry” in the kitchen, small bags for novelties
over the heater. Later, the landlady offers us cake, very tasty, special, soft...
Really yummy.
Ola mire čhave
maro mandar mangen.
Katar lenge lava,
te man love nane.
Oda lenge phenďom,
tajsa love chudaha,
maro lenge cinaha.
A housewife, Eva offers a delicious
cake to us.
Those children of mine
are asking for bread from me.
Where will I get it from
when no money I have?
So I said to them,
tomorrow I’ll get money,
I’ll buy bread for them.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Sas man lubňi
mire čhavorenca.
E daj mange muľas,
ko man sajinela?
A miro phral bares rovel,
kaj man mukhľas korkores.
I had with an unfaithful woman
my children.
My mother died,
who will pity me?
My brother’s crying hard
that she left me alone.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
De le hurenca me džav,
jaj ,mre dukhade pindrorenca.
De te me merav, na bajinav,
jaj, me romňatar romes na lav.
Ajci piľom andre žiaľa,
až labol andre mande e paľenka.
I’m going through a forest
alas, with my sore feet.
If I die, I don’t mind,
alas, I won’t take a husband from my wife.
I drank so much in my sorrow
that the liquor is burning within me.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
When speaking about music, our seasoned hosts are used to shows, even photo sessions. The theatre company,
Romathan, even visited them to learn their songs. Now, who will sing for us? Four sisters and a brother. Mária
Horváthová, the oldest of five children, dressed in a green and yellow striped sweater, is really cool. Besides her
brother, she is the one who begins to sing most of the songs. Then, we have Eva Pechová with four children. She gets
too hot and leaves only her undershirt on. Since she offers us cake she must be the landlady here. She is a huge
woman. We nickname her “a butcher” later. The vague vision arose in Jana’s mind, seeing “a butcher” with a big
bladed knife and thread in her hands. In the middle is Anna Polhošová, an ethereal creature, childish, and lively. As
90
if she has a pain in her throat she wears a scarf around her neck.
Suddenly, she takes it off and begins to dance with it. Her shoes off, she
is dancing barefooted on a tiny piece of the floor; like a fairy, her feet
touch the ground. Her adult son’s wife is in hospital. (She gave birth to
a child, probably dead already. She must stay there longer. No one has
any news from her. They try to call her with a borrowed cell phone.
Nobody answers; was it a wrong number? Mission: impossible.) A few
minutes later, Eva suddenly holds a small girl that got into her arms by
chance. Eva dances with her. Who is she? Her little daughter? A
granddaughter? The girl has a runny nose; the woman wipes it with her
scarf. It is a multipurpose scarf.
Anna looks like an ethereal being, childlike,
light-hearted...
Chudľas man šiloro
tel oda buroro.
Jaj de čak adaj jekh raňori,
de učhar mro šeroro.
Učharava mro šeroro,
raňori kerava.
Oda kerpero šoha na dikhava.
The cold caught me
under that bush.
Alas, just give a lady here,
but cover my head.
I’l cover my head,
I will become a lady.
I’ll never see the scarf again in my life.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Soske mange pre oda svetos,
ča kaj peske džav me?
Sakoneske mištes,
ča mange namište.
Sako phenel – mamo
a man nane kaske.
Why am I here on this earth,
where will I go?
Everyone’s doing fine,
I’m the only one doing bad.
Everyone’s saying-motherI have no one to say that to.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Pavlína Žigová is the youngest sister of the family. Perhaps not married, she uses her family name. Something is
wrong with her legs; they are shorter, bowed. Three children sit next to her; the oldest girl inherited the family’s leg
deformity. The children look like Pavlína despite her single surname. Pavlína’s gestures are abrupt, her head moves
strangely. The lack of dancing ability in her lower body (she is still sitting) is balanced by her upper body and snapping
fingers. Jožko Žiga is not only the youngest in the family, but as the only brother of four sisters, he is obviously their
favourite. His bushy, black beard reveals a lack of a few front teeth. Jožko’s legs are deformed, too. His partner keeps
standing behind him all the time.
Jožko can play the guitar. He is a real master. I am not very
good at music, but he began with Romany songs and served a
flamenco dessert at the end; his performance was marvellous.
The twelve-string guitar is missing some of them. Jožko
substituted rapping on the body of the guitar for the missing
strings, sometimes very expressively.
People come and go. Youngsters assemble in the
bedroom. Songs follow one after another, plenty of songs.
Unbelievable ambience is created in the space. Everybody is
totally relaxed. Music (and being close to each other, as well) has
swept them off their feet. Harmony. They are showing us their
best side. Just once I wish I could be on that side. At least for a
minute.
The youngest and apparently quite favored is Jožko–the
youngest member of the family and the only brother
of four sisters.
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Sar me pal tu phiras,
tu man na kamehas.
Akanakes tu man kames,
hoj tuha dživav.
When I used to court you,
you didn’t want me.
Now you want me
to live with you.
De tu mange tro taťipen,
de tu man pro kamľiben.
Pro kamľiben me som phuro,
de tu mange pro kamľiben.
Give me your warmth,
Let me make love to you.
I’m too old for making love,
Let me make love to you.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Muľas mange mri romňori,
mukhľas pre ma štare čhavore.
Te merav, so me lenca,
so me lenca kerava.
Lava mange avra romňa,
mek baraha le čhaven.
My wife died,
left me four kids.
If I die, what will I with them,
what will I with them do?
I’ll marry a different woman
to bring up the kids.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Jaj, de pro khoča bešľom,
i čang mange phagľom.
So pre khoča bešľom,
jekh čang mange phagľom.
I knelt on my kness,
I broke a leg.
When I knelt on my knees,
I broke one of my legs.
Mek o kher na vakinďom,
imar žaľa kerav.
Žaľa te na kerav
khatar mre čhave.
I haven’t plastered my house
but I’m causing sorrow.
I wouldn’t cause sorrow
‘round my children.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Imar aven, joj, o burume,
de strihinena mire bala.
Ma strihinen mire bala,
jaj de bo me džava pre brigada.
They’re coming, policemen,
they’ll cut my hair.
Don’t cut my hair,
‘cause I’ll go to jail.
Markušovce – Jareček 2001
Unfortunately, we must go. It’s getting darker outside. There are children and youths, around twenty of them,
grouped in front of the house. Jožko falls down as he comes out. They help him stand up. Jana wears a hat (it really
suits her). Somebody advises her to take it off for dogs in Jareček do not like hats (even fetching ones). We are not
sure if it is a joke or not. We cannot see any dogs. One girl is very intrusive, asking for various things: money, a
necklace, anything. She is quite pushy. A boy asks whether I have got any children. My answer is, “Yes, I have.” His
question, “Sons?” My answer, “Yes, two.” And what are their names? I reply. He says that Jakub is a funny name. He
offers to be my third son. Right? Then, I have to take him away from that place. A man holding a small child
recommends his relative in Bystrany to us. She is called Nemci and she can help us. Next, boys ask for five crowns.
Finally, they get what they wanted. Getting into the car Janka notices a coin on the dashboard. The boys take the coin.
Our car does not start. They could push us; their offer is given. Well, if we don’t mind. Before we are able to answer,
the whole group of people commences to push us. The car suddenly moves very fast as if the motor is running already.
Maryška jumps inside at the very last moment. Lucky return to Spišská Nová Ves, dinner in a restaurant and then off
we go to bed in our hotel. A busy day is finished.
(Wednesday, November 27, 2001, Bratislava – Spišská Nová Ves, Markušovce, Jareček)
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NOT EVERY COOKIE CRUMBLES THE SAME WAY
oday we have Žehra on the programme. Žehra is a village with a beautiful church built on the top of a hill. Maryška
contacted people from a local community centre. The centre is situated in a small, freshly remodelled house that is
still not completely furnished. There is an office, a hall, a toilet; another room where we can see a cupboard, a washing
machine, a stove; the next room is full of large tables. Gypsum casts of decorative wall plates lay on the tables. The plates
still have to be painted. They plan to sell them at fairs. The Romany living in the village meet in the community centre.
They have got activity groups for cooking, handiwork, and sport. They can do their washing there. Supported by
governmental financial sources community centres are established in other places, too. A centre planned in Rudňany will
be made of a set of shipping containers. Viera and Fero, are a young couple, about thirty years old; they are employed
together in Žehra’s community centre.
We stop our car right at the beginning of the village–well, its Romany part which is situated in a different area than
the white part with the church. The Romany part is closer to Spišská Nová Ves and on the left, while the whites live on
the right alongside a few fields. The community centre is located in the white part.
We approach a house at the village’s end. A side lane is empty at first; then boys watching out the windows notice
us. They run out of the houses. Despite snow they wear only t–shirts; they shout and ask for pictures. As soon as these
people spot a camera they begin to pose in front of it to be photographed. I try to take a snapshot of one or two of them.
By the time I am ready with my camera I have got five kids in the frame; too many for one picture. There is a woman
and a child in the house. A simply built house that is quite clean and well heated with a small stove. I recognise a special
scene again: the woman is obviously busy doing something; nevertheless, there are no signs of her activity in the room:
no food, no leftover bits, no dishes here or there. It looks like a fully furnished theatre scene, but without any props.
An old chap comes from an adjacent room. His belly stares out of his shirt. He suffers from diabetes. He has got up
today after lying in bed for a couple of days. He is a musician, his son as well. We explain the purpose of our visit. We
collect old songs, provided he sings some for us. We will record them and then transcribe them into notes and a small
Romany songbook will be published, as well as translated into Slovak (and English, too). In the songbook it will be
stated that a particular song originates from Lajko (Lajko is his name) from Žehra. The best songs will be made into a
CD. The chap makes vague excuses. He does not want to play or sing on his own. His son might help him, but he lives
in another village and goes to work. Lajko will call him and they can fix it for Wednesday then. Okay. We agree to come
back again on Wednesday.
A group of people waits for us in the street. We ask whether they will sing for us or give us advice as to who in the
camp can sing. There is an embarrassingly, astute man among them; Viktor is his name. Maryška and him, they have
already met somewhere. He recalls my grandfather to me. Gossips say something about his unsuccessful political
ambitions. He is a very bossy chap, ready in a second to make a decision on everyone’s behalf. He claims that people
will only sing for money; that’s the way the cookie crumbles here. He warns us not to go further into the village of blocks
of flats and cottages. We might not be safe there as bad Romany live there.
However, we go right there. We only want to listen to songs. Viera is our guide. She has to stop at the school where
she works as a Romany assistant. We follow her. A small, bright blue, one-floor school building has recently been built.
A bright blue fence creates the border of a school playground in the middle of a field. Inside, there is a hall furnished
with dressing units, a large classroom decorated with children’s drawings and various school tools, and, finally, a thin,
strict-looking teacher. A kindergarten room is in this building, too. We don’t go there. Lessons are in the morning and
also in the afternoon. As we enter, the afternoon lessons begin with a special activity–eating yoghurt. The teacher says
that if children cannot afford to buy yoghurt to eat it before lessons they do not even dare to come to school. Viera knows
exactly who is missing at school today. She stops at houses and shouts at parents to send their truants to school. She does
this job despite our presence, without our company she would be even more consistent. She threatens to cut their child
allowance. Of course, she is not authorised to do so. However, these people do not understand official matters.
Therefore, they believe her. She says so.
We reach the blocks of flats, reminiscent of a small housing estate. There are around six blocks, each with five floors
or so, offering a better standard of living. Inhabitants try to keep it clean. Even so, the area does not look as clean as a
white neighbourhood. Truly, this is not a white neighbourhood. It’s livelier; many people are strolling up and down
despite cold weather and snow. They just stand outside and watch the others. Maryska surprises them by being able to
speak Romany. They are taken aback when she interrupts their chatting and shows that she understands. They are
ashamed if they are backbiting. After all this, we all laugh.
They have a new church here.
And a very special, little shop is situated on the ground floor of one of the blocks of flats. A common glass door
entrance is open to the street. The shop seems open. However, we are brought to a halt by the metal grid that reached
from the bottom to the top of the door. Everything is behind this grid. A shopkeeper (a small, bitter, thin-lipped woman)
is also behind the grid. She might not have behaved well. We assume it is closed. The truth is that the shop is open and
the shopkeeper is too good. Full of experience, she now only sells goods to her customers through a small window in
the grid. It looks awful. We buy a couple of things and a bar of chocolate for an elderly woman we are about to visit.
First, we stop in one block at Stano Mižigars’ and his wife, Dorotka. Both of them were child and teenage members
of Maryška’s folk group, Romka, in Detva. Maryška is still the head of the group. Stano plays in a band; they have
recorded a tape. They play their pop song versions at weddings or dance parties. They compose songs themselves, as
well. Stano sings nicely, shouting too loudly and exaltedly. We sit in their living room. A small, decorative tablecloth is
T
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under the TV set. We are offered a drink. The room looks flashy with a large plush settee, a set of polished wooden
shelves, small statues, pictures and things like that. They make coffee for us and they offer us some wine. Somebody
brings an electrical synthesiser. Janka is not very satisfied. She would prefer something old-fashioned. She asks for any
grandma or grandpa. One grandma is sitting in the hall watching us. We can’t make her sing. Another member of
Žehra’s band also sings. A quiet, thin man in a dark, leather jacket and trousers stands nearby. His face is deeply
wrinkled, typical for a bad film character. Not one word comes out of his mouth. He only watches us.
Suddenly he takes a small girl dressed in white and pink into his arms. It is surprising not only because of the colour
combination, but emotionally, as well. Somebody closes the door between the hall and the posh living room to prevent
recording any hallway noise. The hallway spectators do not seem disturbed. They watch us as if we are goldfish in a bowl
and they look like goldfish in a bowl to us. Stano’s younger brother, more handsome in my opinion, begins to shyly sing,
not enough courage to express himself aloud. We experience his full performance in the dark on our way back to the car.
The whole company tags along with us. Stano’s brother rides a horse. His nephew–Stano’s son, about four years old, sits
on horseback, too. They both sing as loudly as they can. They are relaxed now. We like it very much.
Veša, veša, churde veša,
u maškar o cintiris.
Ola veša čhingerava,
mira dake me ľidžava.
Woods, woods, small woods,
a cemetery in their midst.
These woods I’ll cut down,
to my mom I’ll bring them.
Veša, veša, churde veša,
odoj palal o cintoris.
Ola veša prephiravas
a la romňa na arakavas.
Woods, woods, small woods,
a cemetery in the back there.
I walk all those woods through
but do not find my wife.
Daje, daje, mri dajori,
phen tu mange, kaj mri romňi?
Le muršenca, le rajenca,
ole čore slugadženca.
Mom, mom, my dearest mom,
tell me where my wife is.
With men, with lords,
with poor soldiers.
Žehňa 1988; Abranovce 1995; Božena Gunárová, Klenová 2002; Varhaňovce 2001; Svinia 2001; Poštárka 2001;
Bystrany 2001; Žehra 2001; Čemerné 2002; Podskalka 2002; Sedliská 2002; Soľ 2002; Dlhé Stráže 2002;
Veľká Lomnica 2002
Pro sudocis geľom,
joj de duj beršona chudľom.
Joj, duj beršona chudľom,
mek mariben chudľom.
I went to court,
alas, I got two years.
Alas, two years I got,
was beaten up, as well.
Stano and Dorotka Mižigarovci, Žehra 2001
We head into the most provincial part of Žehra. First, we
notice brick houses; going further it gets worse. Children’s
clothes and a few other items dry hanging on the branches of a
bush that resembles a Christmas tree. “Voyeurs” immediately
appear behind windows. I remember the same scene in a film
about the Romany where a woman said that she tidied up her
flat in the morning, made beds and afterwards she was just
watching was happening outside of her window; or, more
precisely, whether something would happen outside. Well, it is
our arrival that happens to these people today.
An elderly auntie welcomes us into her house. She is said to
be one of the oldest in the camp. Her husband and daughter
breed two horses. Her daughter says it is expensive, but on the
other hand, it keeps her father busy. He has no time to waste.
After Justína’s son had died, she cried two years and cried
Those horses are film stars, too. Auntie is in high spirits despite
until her eyes got sick with glaucoma.
recovering from the flu. Sometimes she coughs; her voice jumps
up and down. She sings nicely. She repeats some songs. She tells
some stories about World War II. She describes a police raid. Policemen took the children away; a man saved his child
by hiding it under his shirt. The Romany ran into the woods and waited there until the Russians and Germans passed
their village. Only afterwards did they come back. None of Žehra’s Romany were killed in the war. Some of them were
abducted and put into prison or work camps. She mentions her son’s death. She cries; she had cried for two years until
she got cataracts on her eyes. Janka says that her mother suffers from this illness, too. A woman advises Janka’s mother
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to take the pink pills to heal her eyes; she emphasises the pink colour of the pills. Pink pills really help. A picture of
illuminated Jesus hangs on the wall next to a huge, gold wristwatch. A bunch of artificial flowers hangs underneath and
next to tapestries with poppies and a dwarf and a painted plate. Viktor, the astute one, comes, too. He sees that we have
received a warm welcome and he wasn’t right with his prediction of problems. He becomes friendlier. We even notice
tears in his eyes; the woman’s singing touches him. He brings some wine. Somebody washes glasses. Apparently, we drink
to his health. The auntie accepts the chocolate we brought her. She smiles standing in the doorway saying good-bye.
Somnakune prajta,
joj, sar man maj učharen,
bo man e daj le dadeha
pal o veša roden.
Golden leaves,
oh, how they can hide me,
for my mother and father
are searching for me in the forest.
O stromi bandžona
khatar me predžava.
Džava le dromeha,
o dad man rodena.
The trees will bend
wherever I’ll go.
I’ll walk on the road
my father will search for me.
Justína Dunková, Žehra 2001
Daje, daje, mri dajori,
de man kečen trin koruni.
Maj me tuke pale dava,
sar mri romňi khere avla.
Mommy, mommy, my mommy,
lend me three crowns.
I’ll give it back to you
as soon as my wife’s back home.
Justína Dunková, Žehra 2001; Janovce 2002; Anna Michalíková, Poštárka 2001
We move ahead. Flocks of people follow us. A woman asks me to take
a picture of her. She holds a small child, about a year old, in her arms. She
unwraps it from the duvet so that I am able to see it. It is a lovely baby,
dressed all in white. The young mother asks for a picture for her husband
who is in prison at the moment. He has not seen his baby yet. (Well, he
will not receive my picture either.)
Metal hubcaps decorate the exterior walls of many cottages. They
look like small, metal suns on those houses.
We are hanging around almost at the end of the village. A group
encircles us. Nobody really knows what we are waiting for. Our guide,
Vierka, stopped three houses back and sharply ordered one mother to
send her child to school. They shout, quarrel. Step by step we learn that
a Béla Pokuta lives here. He is a great singer. His brother says that Béla
will not sing free of charge–a bottle of wine can be the reward. Despite
Béla was created for sadness.
the fact that we are just in front of his house we are not allowed to go
inside. It is one of the poorer cottages, if not the poorest in the camp.
Stano Mižigar arranges a place where we can go. Ravi leaves to buy
wine. Meanwhile, we are amused by a karate-kata performance by a local, jolly-joker. Youngsters and children, some
of them with bare feet and bottoms, chuckle. And again, we repeat our story that we collect old songs, provided they
sing some for us. We will record them and then transcribe them into notes and a small Romany songbook that will
be published, as well as translated into Slovak (and English, too). In the songbook it will be stated that a particular
song originates from somebody from Žehra. The best songs will be made into a CD.
Stanko arranged for us to go to Dorotka’s aunt who lives up the street. We go then. It is a small cottage with a
kitchenette and a room inside. Everything is neat and clean; we see a microwave oven, a TV set on a small, decorative
tablecloth, a tape recorder. I have run out of film in my camera. I am horrified to discover that the extra film in my
rucksack is gone. I did not realise it when taking the last one. What a shame! Ravi is back with wine.
Béla comes. He is older than his brother, who arranged the ‘song for wine’, is. Béla was born to be a film star. He
is dark and serious. His sad, deeply wrinkled face and eyes which reflect a whole lifetime of pain combined with anger
about his fate smile shyly only after a pint of wine. Beautifully, he sings slow songs full of sorrow. He closes his eyes.
People come and go. The rush here is small compared to the situation in Bystrany that we will experience later.
Everyone inside concentrates on Béla; they appreciate his singing for which he is famous. Stanko Mižigar is delighted.
For him this is an opportunity to sing with Béla. This does not happen to him often, in fact hardly ever. These singermusicians look at each other; their eyes speak instead of their mouths. They are enjoying this special moment.
Actually, they come from rival families. The Mižigars are rich and are nobility. Béla’s family is scum. And Béla was
created for sorrow. He is sorry for himself; his poor soul suffers a lot. He seems guiltless. He was in prison for thefts
a few times. His singing must be a positive part of his character. He sings (in Slovak) a song about a prisoner from
97
Leopoldov. The text is very naive: getting up early, walking up and down in a small part of a yard. He sings the whole
long text very emotionally two times. One would almost believe in his innocence. We learn that the man in the leather
jacket and dark trousers, who is attached to us like our shadow, was sent to prison, too. He does not dare to think
about it, nor even to speak.
Šilalo paňori,
darav me te predžav.
Hej, darav me te predžav,
te na man murdaren.
Cold water,
I’m afraid to cross it.
I’m afraid to cross it
in order not to be killed.
Te man murdarena,
ko pal me rovela?
Joj, de rovna pale mande
mre churde čhavore.
When I am killed,
who’ll weep for me?
Alas, they’ll weep for me
my little kids.
Béla Pokuta, Žehra – Dreveník 2001
U Kašate jekh bareder špitaľa,
odoj pašľol mri kedvešňi piraňi.
De la o Del hoj oj avri sasťola,
andre mande miro jilo pukinla.
In Košice–the biggest hospital,
there my sweetheart’s lying.
God willing, she’ll get well
inside me my heart will break.
So čorore amen čore keraha,
te amen čore čorore ačhaha?
Te amenge miri phuri dajori,
joj, Devlale te joj čori merela?
Poor us, what will we do
when we wretched remain?
When my grandmother,
oh, God, the poor woman, when she dies?
Béla Pokuta, Žehra – Dreveník 2001; Poštárka 2001; Čemerné 2002; Soľ 2002; Snina 2002; Bystrany 2001;
Svinia 2001
Irena, a young, slim, pretty woman dressed in tight trousers and high
boots, also came to sing. She is 38 and the mother of nine children. Well,
nobody would guess she has such a big family. She is not aware of what
is going on. So, we repeat like a merry-go-round that we collect old songs,
provided she sings some for us. We will record them and then transcribe
them into notes and a small Romany songbook will be published, as well
as translated into Slovak (and English, too). In the songbook it will be
stated that a particular song originates from Béla or Irena from Žehra.
The best songs will be made into a CD. The woman sings with Béla, also
without him. Her performance is nothing special, to be honest. We are a
little confused. Béla takes regular sips of his wine putting the bottle close
to a table leg. Finally, Irena leaves.
Irena sings with or without Béla.
Ola Roma pre ma rušen,
že me džanav te bašavel.
Bešľom mange tejle,
chudel mange me te rovel.
Gypsies are angry with me
because I can play.
I sat down beneath
and began to cry.
Dža ča, Jančus, dža ča,
vičin le dochtoris.
Maj ov tuke phenla,
kana e daj merla.
Just go, Johny, just go,
call a doctor.
He will tell you
when our mother dies.
Béla Pokuta, Irena Horváthová, Žehra – Dreveník 2001
98
But oda, but oda,
duj berš te užarel.
Me les na užardžom,
lubipen me kerdžom.
A long time, a long time it is
to wait for two years.
I did not wait for him
unfaithful was I.
Te adarik džava,
kaske, so phenava?
Peršo mira dake,
avka mre romeske.
When I leave this place,
what will I tell all?
First my mom,
and then my husband.
Irena Horváthová, Žehra – Dreveník 2001
Labol andre mande
miro kalo jilo.
Ma phen mira dake,
že oda čačo nane.
It’s burning within me,
my black heart.
Do not tell my mother
that it is not true.
Béla Pokuta, Irena Horváthová, Žehra – Dreveník 2001
Béla still sings, but nothing new. Others help him sing. Stanko sings alone. Stanko’s brother hesitates about singing
aloud or just for himself. We can hear noise outside. Nobody knows what has happened. Irena’s husband is beating his
wife for not bringing any money for singing. Why on earth would he send her to us then? Irena’s husband is Béla’s
brother. He arranged the ‘song for wine’ business for Béla. In his opinion, if there is no reward, no work should be done.
People in the room ask us to give her some money. We collect about one hundred crowns in twenty-crown banknotes.
That amount may do it. Despite the nuisance due to his sister-in-law, Béla stays calm. “He is just my brother,” he declares
peacefully. (They use a special expression for fighting: “cracking”–even children “crack” each other.) He might suppose
that Irena suffers less from kicking and pounding when his brother beats her.
We are about to depart. It is dark outside. We have the company of people living in the blocks. We are left alone as
soon as they reach their homes. Everything looks all right besides our car. It barely starts.
Then we have dinner and rewriting songs in our beds on the programme for that night. Headphones on Maryška’s
ears, she dictates verse lines or strophes of the text, first in Romany to Janka then in Slovak to me.
(Wednesday, November 28, 2001, Žehra)
IF SOME DAYS DID NOT EXIST WE WOULD NOT
MISS THEM AT ALL
arly in the morning our sleepy car refuses to start. We, more or less, pushed it instead of driving it to the car
maintenance. With the morning free we translate songs.
In the afternoon–our vehicle is already repaired–we depart for the meeting set with Lajko, the diabetic man, and his
band at the community centre in Žehra.
We succeed in stopping in Bystrany on our way. People from Jareček recommended visiting a woman called Nemci.
Yes, yes, we collect old songs and if they are willing to sing some for us, we will record them. Then we’ll transcribe them
into notes and a small Romany songbook will be published, as well as translated into Slovak. In the songbook it will be
stated that a particular song originates from Nemci (she laughs, “You’re joking!”) from Bystrany. The best songs will be
made into a CD. We agree to come the next day. They will be ready.
Up to Žehra now. We wait in the community centre. Nobody comes. We intend to go to local pub to warm up. We
discover that here is no pub in Žehra. There used to be, but that time is gone. We nearly froze.
The rest of the day we spent at Viera’s from the centre. Viera has got a house in the next white village.
We feel this day was completely unsuccessful–moreover, we did not record a single song.
(Thursday, November 29, 2001, Žehra, Bystrany)
E
99
BEAUTIES AND BEASTS
e set off to Bystrany in the morning. We go straight to the
kindergarten as was planned. Nemci waits for us. The
kindergarten is in a house at the beginning of a white village.
Children–Romany only (white children go somewhere
else)–are assembled in a room. Six mothers are in another one.
They knit hats for the kindergarten kids as presents from Santa
Claus. Knitting for her own child, a mother makes a tassel, a
tassel for a hat is not made if knitting for a child whose mother
does not work here. A white woman is the leader here. She
unwinds a knotted ball. She explains the financial sources for
their activities. Women want to spend their time together and be
useful instead of fooling around in the camp, in that dense
atmosphere of quarrels, gossips, sex and time-wasting. Women
welcome outside help. Their men, though, that is a tough sell.
A woman in white.
They are too proud, strong-minded, and stupid. There is only
one man in the camp with a proper job. He is a policeman; he
works with the whites in the village. He doesn’t look very
friendly.
Nemci takes us to the camp situated below the main road level. We have to take a sharp turn to get there. People
stand around, stroll up and down; they carry wood. A teenager slides down on his sled while his mother walking next to
him carries a heavy shopping bag.
Suddenly, the door of one cottage is open. A young woman (swearing or something close to it) violently throws
away an empty tomato puree tin. A dog relaxing in front of the house watches the tin without any intention to move
forward and investigate it. He might either know the local cuisine, it is a diplomatic dog, or it is too old to get up.
Obviously, the poor dog is completely fed up.
We meet a local jolly-joker. He does not practise karate; he purses his lips. He wishes to perform a shoe exchange
with me. He wears size twelve, I guess.
We go to Pavlína Kandráčová’s house. She used to be the leader of a folk chorus that does not exist any more.
Pavlína declares to be a friend of ARNE B. MANN who sends a box of clothes for her and her children every month.
(When we leave she claims that her children have nothing to wear and she asks us to send her a parcel with clothes.)
We learn the origin of Nemci’s nickname. Her first name is Božena, the same as Božena Němcová. Who on earth is
Nemcová?, she asks us. She was a writer. What did she write? She wrote books. Well, what else if not books, right?
Here we are at Pavlína’s. As guests we are seated, our hosts are standing around. Many of them are here. They
resemble moving images. Plenty of children stand close to adults and lean against them; adults scratch their heads. Many
men are here. More than other places we’ve been. Young boys play two guitars. A string of one guitar breaks. Singing
women maintain eye contact. We get coffee. This is an extremely busy place. New people come in, open the door, and
then slam it. Pavlína looks for a key. She can’t find it. A little embarrassed she touches her breasts unconsciously. She
finds the key. She locks the house. That did not help much. Total rush hour. Pavlína shrugs her shoulders; she cannot
help it. These are her brothers, sisters, a brother’s kid, and a sister’s kid. She must let them in. Pavlína starts singing,
next, the women and the men, and the children, too, join her. One boy sings his lungs out. Does he hope to benefit
somehow by performing–and even using a microphone–for us–white
people? A girl dressed in a red and white shirt is a favourite. They keep
pushing her in front of the microphone. She sings nicely, but not in
Romany style. No raucous voice still smelling of smoke form a fire and
cigarettes. She sings like a bird. Even the dead would get up to see who
sings so high. As her voice is so rare among Romanies they spoil her.
Everybody listens to the songs. They cry from time to time. They
stop singing. Then they join back in again. Even men, impressed or
something, have tears in their eyes. I feel I am not able to show such deep
emotions as theirs are the deepest. Whites do not go so deep; we prefer to
stay in the clean, shallow waters instead.
A woman dressed in white sings with Pavlína. Her teeth look funny.
There are only upper ones on the right side, lower ones only on the left
side. They look like perfect dentures when they are together. Many people
bite their nails. They call the remote control a calculator. So does my
The reason Nemci is called Nemci is that her name is
father.
W
Božena like Božena Němcová.
100
Imar aven o „telune“
te strihinel mire bala.
Ma strihinen mire bala,
bo me džava ko slugadža.
The ones from the “lower end” are coming
to cut my hair.
Do not cut my hair
for I’ll go in the army.
Imar aven o „telune“
le uprunen te murdarel.
Ma mundaren man, Romale,
hin man romňi the štar čhave.
The soldiers are coming
to kill the ones from the “upper end.”
Do not kill me, Romanies,
I’ve got a wife and four kids.
House of Pavlína Kandráčová, Bystrany 2001
Andre karčma geľom,
pal o skamind mange bešľom.
De o cakľi pašal mande,
de u mri romňi bešel khatar mande.
I went to the pub
sat at a table.
Put bottles around me
and my wife’s sitting farther away from me.
House of Pavlína Kandráčová, Bystrany 2001
Ňič man nane,
o dadoro man hin.
So pre late dikhav,
o jilo man dukhav.
I have nothing
but I have my father.
When looking at her
my heart’s aching.
Joj, marel, o Del marel,
kas kamel, te marel.
Joj man o Del marďa,
na džanav vaš soske.
Oh, God punishes, he punishes
whom he wants to punish.
God also punished me
I don’t know why.
Dajori man nane,
čak dadoro man hin.
So pre late dikhav,
o jilo man dukhal.
I have no mother,
I just have a father.
When looking at her,
my heart’s aching.
House of Pavlína Kandráčová, Bystrany 2001; Žehňa 1988
Phende mange, phende, mire pandž čhavore,
hoj, ajsa romňa te lav, so man paťiv dela.
U me mange chudľom lanci pre mre vasta,
u me mange chudľom čhavores pro vasta.
I was told, told was I, by my five kids
to marry a woman that would respect me.
So I got cuffs on my hands
and I took a child in my arms.
Tuke phendžom ma phir tu pal mande,
pro tuke tu deha, pre mande na deha.
U tuke churde chudľa šaj pre tre vasta
u me mange chudľom čhavores, phraleja.
I told you, don’t come to me,
you followed your own advice, not mine.
And you took the loose change into your hands
and I took the child, brother.
House of Pavlína Kandráčová, Bystrany 2001
House of Ružena Dunková, Bystrany 2001
Group portraits keep changing in front of us. People remind me of moving chess figures. A huge bearded man
dressed in a T-shirt with the logo ‘Cool Cat’ enters. Changing to rom-pop songs Maryška tells them to go back to
authentic songs and leave out the modern ones.
She explains the difference. Everybody waits for the phuri daj nervously. She finally comes dressed in a sweater signed
Paris-Roma-London-New York. She refuses to sing as she might cry a lot. A motherless child, she brought up seven
children without her husband. She barely recalls old songs; she has to think as she has forgotten the words of many of
them. A Romany resolves this situation easily: he works out the words on his own.
101
We regret to leave, but have to.
Nemci takes us to another house. We visit Ružena
Dunková, the 45-year-old leader of an existing folk chorus. Her
son’s house is in the white part of Bystrany. Group portraits
again, but different ones than at Pavlína’s. It looks like they do
not speak to each other (a common situation, rival houses,
families; lacking some fun they spend their life quarrelling like
monkeys; time runs faster then). A four-poster bed inside a
house. A dog inside a house. The only dog allowed inside that
we noticed. It is a small, friendly dog. A family pet.
Singers slowly commence. Once they are warmed up, we
are not able to leave. Here, we see that whites sing, too. Janka
sings solo, as well as Ravi. I do not sing–I resisted.
We notice something special at this address. Ružena
Phuri daj from Bystrany.
Kandráčová, an absolute beauty at nineteen years old, dark as a
film star, but not from a Slovak film. Gentle, African, she sang
like an angel, wearing a white T-shirt with the words “Rescue service Plzeň-south”.
Two girls sit next to her. It appears that they are the best of the chorus. Andrea (16, looks older), with heavy makeup
on, pretty and self-conscious, wears a silverish scarf on her neck. Then we have Margita Šándorová, the twenty-eight year
old mother of two. She is pretty, strong and ambitious. She plays the guitar more assertively than is acceptable. She tries
her best, taking her last chance to leave the camp. Well, is there any
chance for her? She hopes we can help her. We cannot help her. We know
it. She does not. And we see an unusual girl with a soft moustache above
her upper lip and almond-shaped eyes.
Is there any hope for these girls to escape from this place? They do
deserve more than too many kids in a dirty household with an aggressive
husband and an opportunity to sing from time to time. The beautiful
Ruženka had a Czech boyfriend. He came to visit her family and after
seeing the camp of Bystrany he disappeared like a ghost leaving his angel,
Ruženka, here, of course.
I spot a handsome boy among the others standing around the sitting
girls. He is darker and more handsome than the other boys are; he must
be Ruženka’s brother. Meeting their father later I can’t guess whom they
take after. Their dad, old Gejza, is a huge fat man in a red T-shirt. He sings
nicely. He has recorded his own tape. He has also sung with Věra Bilá. A
Gejza has also sung with Věra Bílá.
daughter and her father–like the beauty and the beast.
Kaj tu thoďal le čhaven?
Joj, te na šoha ňigda meren,
la mamakre pandž čhavore, joj.
Joj, mamo miri, mamo,
kaj tu thoďal le čhaven?
Andro paňi me len čhiďom,
o mačhe len chan.
Where did you put the children?
Alas, never let die
the five kids of the mother, alas!
Alas, mother, my mother,
where did you put the children?
I threw them into the water
fish have eaten them.
Dom Ruženy Dunkovej, Bystrany 2001
Me latar na bajinav,
čak la romňa sajinav.
Čak la romňa the le čhaven
de la o Del khere javen.
I don’t care about her,
I just feel sorry for the woman.
Just the woman and the children,
God willing, they’ll come home.
Na somas me khere,
na džanas ko avľa.
Avľa mri phuri daj,
sar me la dikhava.
I was not at home,
didn’t know who came.
My grandmother came
how will I see her?
Dom Ruženy Dunkovej, Bystrany 2001
102
Devla, Devla, so me kerav,
o kamiben pre ma thoďal.
Te del o Del mro gulo Del,
sar te dživel pale mande.
God, God, what will I do?
You sent love to me.
God, my sweet God willing,
he will live with me.
Ole čore Roma
pal o svetos phiren.
Pal o svetos phiren,
phari voďi cirden.
The poor Romanies
wander around the world,
wander around the world,
dragging heavy souls with them.
Mre churde čhavore
paš o paňi bešen,
churdi poši jon chan.
My little children
are sitting near the water,
eating fine-grained sand.
Mária Oláhová, Detva – recorded in Bystrany 2001
Feeling exhausted, I dream about two dogs from Jareček on our way back to the hotel. They are behind a fence.
The first one is a small dog, sleeping curled up in a ball. The second one is big, furious, chained up. The second one
attacks us; jerked back by his chain he barks violently, the chain taut, his front legs up. Fighting for his soul. The small
doggie sleeps sweetly underneath the big one’s legs. The doggie and the chain, that is a border a big aggressor can’t
cross.
(Friday, November 30, 2001, Bystrany)
APOCALYPSE NOW
udňany. We drive our car down the main road. We cannot be far. We pass some ruins on the right side. We take a
better look... This cannot be a real camp! No, one can live in there. This is the genuine scene of the Hollywood
catastrophic, epic “Apocalypse Now”.
We go further. Yes, that is the right place. We turn off the main road. There is a block of flats on each side of the
road. Lines of laundry covered with snow dries. A type of clothes–especially various duvets and decorative clothes–is the
same from camp to camp. Aggressive patterns. A small child runs out of a dilapidated block and poops right in front of
the entrance to the building. More children come to have a look at us. Not many Romany live here. This is not the camp.
The camp lies upwards. A blue shipping container serves as a community centre named A Dignified Life. Now it is closed.
(A part of the film “The Romany House” was filmed here.)
An older boy joins us in the car to show us the way. We go up the hill through a village. We pass a village and enter
the woods. Is this a right way? Is this a bad joke? Yes, this is right way. The farther Romaci live from whites the better it
is for the whites. Better for the whites, better for everybody, right?
We finally reach our target and we are amazed. A wire fence creates a border
around brand new, shining white blocks of flats. Romanies moved in only three
days ago. They work hard, carry things, move furniture in, and unload a lorry.
They prepare wood. We pass through extremely long, dark and cold corridors. We
have seen a one-room and a two-room flat heated by a small stove and with only
cold water in the kitchen. No idea what the bathroom looks like. The flats are
small. They could be cosy. Probably they are not. The owners mention how badly
the workers that built these buildings behaved and made them dig without any
salary using the arguments that they should contribute to the construction of their
homes. Pipes leak in someone’s bathroom. Somebody claims there is splashing
water beneath his PVC floor. A fifty-centimetre piece of plaster fell off in another
flat. We see a small girl with dislocated knees. She has undergone a couple of
operations. They asked for a travel discount to enable her to take the bus home
from school. They did not succeed with their request. There is a proper school for
white children in the village and a special one for Romany children. Mixing is
prohibited.
Today, they elect the mayor. All of them are to vote for the present one who is
very counter-productive and does not give a damn, but he has threatened them all
with a five hundred crown fine if they don’t vote for him. They believe what he
says. We try to explain that he has no right to do that. Well, we do not live here.
We do not know who is the boss here.
Kveta Berkyová, the spirit of the
We meet fifty-year-old Terezka Pechová, her hair done at hairdresser’s; she’s
Community Center Dignified Life
wearing a motley scarf. She is our guide along with Kveta Berkyová, a patron of
in Rudňany.
the community centre.
R
103
Amidst the chaos of moving, someone shuts his door and is left
outside without a key. We wait for an old chap to sing for us. Going to
fetch his violin he has disappeared. We wait a long time. He comes back.
No violin in his hands. He will be right back after he unloads wood from
a wagon, he promises. We wait again. He does not come back. We leave.
He is chopping wood in the yard. He has fooled us again. An old woman
sings a little to us. Their heads are full of the new flats; no wonder they
don’t care about us. Snow has created a white cover everywhere. If not for
the hanging clothes we would not notice the wire fence at all.
Is it Rudňany or the background scenes of a Hollywood
catastrophic epic “The Earth After Its Doom”?
Mamo miri, mamo miri,
mukhľal mange o čoripen.
O čoripen, o pharipen
andre miro kalo jilo.
Mother mine, mother mine,
you left poverty to me.
Poverty and misery
in my black heart.
Te me geľom bare foroha
te nane man aňi dajori,
aňi dajori, aňi dadoro,
joj, de ča me som čak korkori.
When I went to the city,
I didn’t have a mommy,
neither a mommy, nor a daddy,
alas, all alone am I.
Muľas mange o čhavoro,
te me pal leste furt rovav.
Nane man de ňiko,
joj, te čak me som de korkori.
My baby died
and I keep crying for him.
I have no one
alas, all alone am I.
Nasvaľi som, nasvaľi som,
avľas ke ma o dochtoris.
O dochtoris, o primaris,
hoj man avri te ľečinel.
I am sick, I am sick,
the doctor came to see me.
The doctor, experienced doctor,
to cure me.
Rudňany 2001
O poštaris imar avel,
telegramos mange anel.
Telegramos kaľi paska,
kana kamľas mire čhaven.
The postman is coming,
a telegram he’s bringing.
A telegram with a black ribbon
when he wanted my children.
Rudňany 2001
We stop anywhere where someone sings for us. For example, in the middle of an “Apocalypse Now (and here)” film
scene–a great example of Romany life.
Once upon a time, after the February revolution in 1948, miners were recruited (including Romanies) to work at a
magnesite mine in Rudňany. Romany miners built their houses in a white village. Then, blocks of flats for white miners
rose up above the mineshafts. A few decades passed. The mine began to settle. White people refused to live in the blocks
of flats above the mine. They had a great idea. They exchanged their blocks of flats with the Romany houses in the
village instead of taking the compensation of twenty thousand crowns. They just forgot to tell to Romaci about the
settling of the mine. The Romany did enjoy themselves–what a bargain they had made. A few decades passed and the
village of Rudňany resembles an epic scene in a Hollywood movie. Arsenic was also eminating from the ground. Only
after long discussions and media interventions did a decontamination lorry appear to soap the ground a little.
We reach a cottage that looks better inside than it does outside. Its pink walls are decorated with a red pattern.
Pillows of various colours are piled up high in the corner. In the house there is a pregnant woman with a small baby
reminding me of an Indian child. A piece of poetry hangs on the wall in a frame of roses painted on canvas: a tiny
village in the background, a man and a woman in the foreground and the title “No comparison my love to you” in a
circle around them. A cupboard door falls noisily off onto the floor. The woman excuses herself with a smile. She might
be the vajda’s daughter. Her father, a local Romany boss, is Alois Dunka, the leader of the ensemble, Barolija. A hearing
105
aide in his ear, he does not mind being more or less deaf and plays the violin. And
he is a real violin master, as he even possesses a violin case. He does not smile.
He can only be described as smiling a little later when we move to another house
with a more relaxed atmosphere. The vajda’s wife also sings. Aside from her
breasts she resembles Buster Keaton. Her face is a mask. Not even the single,
smallest muscle moves on her face. She wears a red and black skirt and matching
sweater. She is fat and small with a girlishly smashing hairstyle: two, thin, black
plaits with green bows on the ends that rest on her chest. After we met her the
first time Janka praised her hairstyle saying that she looked like an Indian squaw.
But no response appeared on the Indian squaw’s face. It was as if made of stone,
not only while merely watching but while singing, as well. We could hardly hear
her dull voice.
When it comes to music, we did not get much here. The next stop will be
better, Kveta Berkyová promises.
We return to two buildings we visited at the beginning. The family of fortyfour year old Vlasta Horváthová lives in a nice, clean and quite big flat. Vlasta
wears a pink T-shirt. Her son, Šimon (19), is present, too. He plays synthesiser,
something like rom-pop. He is experienced. Igor Horváth plays the clarinet. The
vajda plays the violin. Božena, 18 years old and Šimon’s wife, helps to sing.
However, the main singer is Vlasta’s fifty-nine year old mother Adolfína. She used
to sing in a chorus; she remembers a lot of songs. She sings nicely and quietly. She
is an honourable woman. She sings a charming song about roses and buttons on
a girl’s dress.
Many bars of soap are placed on an engraved, wooden, folkish style shelf. A
small decorative tablecloth is beneath the radio. Men’s pants and a used tea bag
dry on two of many hanger hooks.
Adolfína is singing a nice song about
roses and buttons on a girl’s dress.
Odoj tele paš o paňi,
užarel man mri šukar piraňi.
Te la ľiľan, dav la pale,
de čak mange la te dena.
Down there, near the water,
my lovely girlfriend’s waiting.
When you took her, give her back,
but give her only to me.
Odoj tele paš o paňi,
užarel man mri šukar piraňi.
Sar joj avel, avka rovel,
a balora peske joj čhingerel.
Down there, near the water,
my lovely girlfriend’s waiting.
She’s weeping, while walking
she’s pulling out her hair.
Odoj tele pašo paňi,
phagle mange mri pravo musori.
Te la phagľal, ker la pale,
o Del tuke vaš ma šegetinla.
Down there, near the water,
my little right shoulder was broken.
When you break it, mend it,
God will help you on my behalf.
Adolfína Horváthová, Rudňany 2001
(Saturday, December 1, 2001, Rudňany)
In the future, we will have to survive with only our memories.
83
106
Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ
AVRE JAKHENGRO DIKHIBEN
E APOKALIPSA AKANA
Rudňani. Avas vurdoneha pal o hlavno drom. Na avaha dur: Pal e čači sera džas pašal o rozpele khera. Das
pozora. Na ela oda osada? Na! Odoj našťi vareko bešel. Se oda avri diťhol sar varesave kulisi andal o hollyvoodiko
katastrofikano baro filmos E phuv pal peripen.
Džas dureder. He. Asdaj oda hin. Pal o hlavno drom džas tele. Pre sako sera ačhel jekh bitovka. O jiveha andre
učhardo uraviben figinel pro šuňura u šuťarel pes. Akarsave pochtana, učharibena, dekici – pes andro romane osadi
sakovar sar jekh sikaven. Ekspanzivna dezeni. Andal e meľaľi bitovka avri denašel čhavoro langa buľaha u chinel anglo
vudar andre bitovka. Aven pre amende te dikhel the aver čhavore. Adaj na bešen but Roma, oda nane vatra, e vatra hiňi
opreder.Andre kiko unimobunka hino o komunitno centrum so pes vičinel Dôstojný život – Paťivalo dživipen. Akana
hiňi andre phandľi (andro oda komunitno centro džalas o filmos Romano kher.)
Las andro vurdon barede čhas, ov amen ľidžala kaj kampel. Džas: Džas andro partos. Prekal o gav. Imar sam pal o
gav. Imar sam andro veš. Džas mište? Na kerel peske amendar pheras? Na. Džas mište. Se te o Roma dureder le
parnendar bešen, akor oda feder prekal o parne, so prekal p parne hin lačho, oda hin lačho prekal o savore, se?
Pro agor avas kaj kamas te avel u sam domarde: drotakra baraha opretradle ačhen šukar, neve, parne bitovki. Perdal
o trin ďivesa avle adaj te bešel o Roma. Buťi hin adaj but. Anen peskere buťa. Lidžan pes andro nevo bešiben. Andal o
nakladno vurdon thoven avri. O kašta kisitinen. Andre: dinďarde, šititne, šilale chodbi. Dikhľam jekha sobakro, the
dsobengro bešiben. Bovoro, andre kuchňa čuľal ča šilalo paňi, sar oda hin andre kupeľňa, na džanas. Cikne. Šaj avel the
utulno. Sigeder nautulno. O kherutune leperen save pre lende sas nalačhe o buťakre andal e firma so bitovki ačhavelas,
sar len tradenas te kopaľinel, nič len vaš oda nadine, se adaj bešena, me šigitinen peske. Varekaske čuľan o ruri andre
kupeľňa. Vareko avľas pharipnaha, hoj tel o linolis les hin paňi. Varekaske peľas tele kotor malta pal e fala. Hin adaj
čhajori so la hin varesavo rosňipen andro khoča, o khoča lake avri džan. Sas the buterval pre operacija. Mangenas prekal
late zľava pro autobusis, kaj te až adaj opre te naphirel pindrenca. Na chudne la. Andro gav hin normalno škola, the
pomocno (špecijalno) prekal o Roma. Jekhetanes našťi phiren.
Adaďives hin gavutne šeraleskro avrikidipen. Savore džan avri te kidel le purane šerales, savo pre lende chasal u
kerel lenge sa nalačho, aľe phenďas lenge, hoj te na avena avri te kidel, poťinena pokuta pandž šel koruni. U on leske
paťan. Zijan lenge vakeras hoj na, no amen na džanas sar oda odoj phirel, kas hin odoj čačeš zor the ko hino e legislativa.
Prinďaras la penda beršengra Terezka Pechova, džal šukar andal e kadernička, šukare šaloha. Avel amenca. The e
Kveta Berkyova, angluňi voďi andro Komunitno centro.
Vareko andro ola neve bešibnaskre fofri andre demaďas le vudareha. Užaras le phure kakus, hoj amenge giľavela.
Hoj džal peske vaš e lavuta. No na avelas. Paľis avľas. Kaj e lavuta? Maj avela, ča o kašta pal overdan tele thovla. Na avel.
Sar imar odari džas, dikhas sar pre dvora čhingerel o kašta. Chasal pre amende.
Sikra amenge giľavel jekh phureder džuvľi, no na sas andre lende aňi sikra jag. Bareder problemi len hin andro šere
– le neve bešibnenca. Avri hin parnes, drotakri bar aňi na elas te dikhel, te na enas pre late figimen o uravibena,the aver
pochtana.
Džas odoj, kaj amenge giľavena: Odoj, kaj oda avri diťholas sar o kulisi andro amerikaňiko filmos Apokalipsa maj
adaj. Kulisi prekal o Romengro dživipen.
Kaj sas, odoj sas, sas jekhvar pal o Aavrikheldo februaris 1948 vičinde andro magnezitakre Rudňani o naňika, the o
Roma. Gele, kherora andro gav ačhade sar o parne. Avre parnenge o štatos ačhaďas buťakre khera opral o šachti. Pregele
dešengre berša. E baňa chudňas tele te perel. O parne so odoj bešenas, imar na kamenas odoj te bešel. Andro šero lenge
avľas ajusi špekulacija. Te paruvel le Romenca o khera andro gav, vaš o khera opral e baňa, dine len the biš ezera
oduštaripnaskre love, ča lenge bisterde te phenel, hoj e baňa perel tele andre peste. O Roma sas lošane kaj savo lačho
bizniso kerde. Pregele vajkeci dešengre berša u le Rudňanendar ačhiľas Hollyvood. The o arzenos lenge imar lene adaj
džala andal e phuv až pal o but cirdipena the medijakre intervenciji avľas špecijalno vurdon so avri žužarďas e phuv.
Džas andro jekh kheroro. Andral hino šukareder, sar avral. Pro ružova fali lolo ornamentos. Andro šing hine sthode
dži o stropos o perňici butere kolorenca. E khabňi džuvľi but cikne čhavoreha, so diťhol avri sar indijanos. Pre fala hin
materijalizimen e poezija – pro pochtan hin maľimen ramos luluďendar, palal gavoro, anglal oj the ov, pašal lende
skirimen Sar – me – tut – kamav Ňiko – tut – na kamel. O vudaroro andal kredencos bare hangoha avri peľas pre phuv,
e kherutňi asabnaha pes amenge mangelas te lake odmukas. E kherutuňi šaj avel le vajdaskri čhaj. Vajdaske hino o Alois
Dunka, šeralo andro suboris Barolija, hin les andro kan mašinkica andro kan, perdal o kašuke, bo hino but kašuko. Paš
o bašavibenleske oda nane problemos. Hin les lavuta. The tokaha. Džanel pre late te bašavel. Na asal. Ča sikrica. Paľis,
andro aver kher, sar ela feder nalada. Le Vajdoskri romňi giľavel. Hiňi sar o Buster Keaton čučenca.Aňi la jakhaha na
čalaďas. Andro muj nasikavel sikra dživipen. The o jakha sar te dikhenas ča anglal. Hiňi harmonikanes opre urďi. E rokľa
O
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hiňi ľoľi the, kaľi, the o sveteris hino lolo the kalo. Hiňi thuľi, the buchľi. Hin la šukar uchaňiben, ajso čhajikano. Duj,
sane andrekhude vrkočiki pale paluňi sera anglal prečhide pro koľin, andre lende hin andre khude zelena pantľiki,
mašľicenca pro agor.Sar pes sikavel jekhtovar, e Janka la ašarel, hoj diťhol avri sar indijanka. Le vajdoskri romňi nič. O
muj sar bar. Sar avri diťhol, avka the giľavel. Nane andro lagro giľavipen ňisavi šuk, aňi zor.
So pal o bašaviben džal, aňi oda but na molas.E Kveta Berkyova phenel, hoj andro aver ačhaviben dikhaha vareso
buter.
Avas pale ki o duj khera, kaj samas mek anglal. Bešel adaj andro šukar, žužo a dosta baro bešiben e fameľija saranda
the štare beršengra Vlasta Horvatova. Hin la urdo ružovo trikos. Hin adaj the lakro čhavo o Šimon (19) u bašavel pro
elekticko zongora, ajse rom – popi, aľe hino lačho. Pro klarinetos bašavel o Igoris Horvath. Pre lavuta o vajdas. Te giľavel
šigitinel e Boženka le Šimoniskri dešochtoberšengri romňi. No maj bareder giľavňi hiňi penda the duj beršengri Adolfina
Horvathova, la Vlastakri daj. Varekana giľavelas andro suboris, džanel o giľora, na giľavel zoraha, no šukares. Diťhol avri
majestatnones. Sikaven lake paťiv. Giľavel šukar giľori pal o ružički the gombički pro čhajikane gada. Pre avričhinďi
polička hine thode žuže sapuňa, tel o tranzistoris dekica. Pro figindo butere hakenca figinen muršikane telune, the imar
avri kidlo tejoskro gonoro.
(sombat, 1.12.2001 Rudňanende)
But dureder anglune ďivesa musaj amenge te aven dosta, ča o leperipena.
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Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ, Jana BELIŠOVÁ
IN THE FAR EAST
KICK OFF
would never have thought about reverting to my research in Romany
camps! Now I believe I will be able to go there any time. It should
be a common part of one’s life to go and visit somebody living–no
matter who–in a Romany camp, shouldn’t it? It should be.
Yesterday, we (Jana, Daňa, Ľuba, Ivan and I) travelled from
Bratislava to Košice. Today, we are in Snina.
We meet a Romany folk chorus member, Jaroslava Kotlárová, in
the afternoon. She has arranged accommodation for us in the Vihorlat
cottage in Rybníky. We drive there. Our car follows Mrs. Kotlárová’s
car. We turn off the main road, pass over a little bridge and continue
on the asphalt road. After a while we pass a posh hotel and take the
prohibited vehicular access road. It is supposed to be a shortcut.
Suddenly, a police car appears behind us and pursues us. Up at the
parking place for the cottage, two policemen get out of their car to fine
The new composition of our team (starting from the left):
us one thousand crowns. A hopeless situation, we think for a while
Zuzana, Ľuba, Daňa, Jana, Ivan.
before Mr. Kotlár, a dark muscleman, gets out of the car and peacefully
defends us, despite the fact that he is a policeman, too. A real Romany
policeman, believe it or not, he arranges the matter with his colleagues. Later, we prefer to take the long cut.
The cottage is cold. In the evening it gets a bit warmer.
On the roof of our car we brought three bags of worn, mostly children’s clothes for poor Romany children. The
Kotlár took them saying that everything will be useful because a Romany house burned in the town.
In the evening, we attend the choir, Terňipen, rehearsal led by Jarka Kotlárová in the community centre. Despite
her strong guarantee we do not hear any old authentic songs. There is a music rehearsal in one room, dancing in
another. Here we have musicians: three guitars and a contrabass. They can’t play any oldies; the tannest guitar
player might know few. Well, Jarka is not able to sing at all. We saw her two hours ago and her health status has
become significantly worse since then: sore throat, backache, achy joints, she can hardly stand up... We are familiar
with these excuses already. If someone is not willing to sing, he or she declares an illness or mourning that prevents
him from singing. Nobody simply says, .“I do not want to sing.” Nobody would protest if they were sincere and not
willing to sing for a few white women.
We look into a choir chronicle that is a really
reminiscent of old times.
We only hammered a few old songs out of the singers in
Snina.
I
(Sunday, April 22, 2002, Snina)
Jarka Kotlárová and the chorus Terňipen from Snina.
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Di te me mamo adarik džav,
so me tuke adaj mukhav?
Di mukhav tuke o čoripen,
andro jilo o pharipen.
When I, mother, will be leaving this place,
what will I leave you?
I’ll leave you poverty,
grief in your heart.
Kaj me, mamo, khere džava,
so me tuke de phenava?
Jon, phrala, man avri čhiven,
so amen, čoren di kerava.
Mother, when I come home,
what will I tell you?
My brothers are driving me out,
poor me, what will do?
Oda kalo čirikloro,
joj preľidžal tu mro jiloro.
Mro jiloro mra romňake
kaj me bešav Ilavate.
That black bird
alas, will bring you my heart.
My heart to my wife
that I’m in jail in Ilava.
Ilavate bari brana,
joj odoj bešen so duj phrala.
Bešen bešen phares roven,
pre sloboda on pes mangen.
In Ilava there’s a big gate
alas, both brothers are in jail there.
Are in jail, in jail, heavily weeping,
for freedom pleading.
Jarmila Kotlárová, Snina 2002; Helenka Mačová, Žehňa 1988; Magda Miková, Poštárka 2001;
Zborov – Vatrisko 2001; Justína Dunková, Žehra – Dreveník 2001; Martinka Ďuďová, Soľ 2002;
Helena Ferancová, Rudlov 2002; Kristína Kalejová, Hermanovce 2002; Veľká Lomnica 2002
UKRAINE AT OUR FINGERTIPS
ur first steps lead to Stakčín where Mrs. Kotlárová comes from. Nice countryside, the Poloniny reserve, Starina
pond.
There are brick houses in Stakčín; a tractor is parked in a yard, too. Honestly, it does not look like a typical Spiš
region or a typical Romany village, as we know them from previous experience.
We were advised to visit Helena Tokárová, an elderly woman. She is said to warble charmingly. She has gone to the
doctor’s and is not in the village. We stop at the beginning of a camp to ask if someone can help us and sing a beautiful
mourning song. Nobody is willing. Helena, they say, would definitely sing if she had been at home. Those who are at
home cannot sing.
One man looks very intelligent. He says, “Věra Bílá–a
woman worth thinking about.” He is right. Another man,
younger, pretends to be Nicholas Cage; he moves in a Nicholas
Cage way; naturally, he wears sunglasses in Nicholas Cage style.
He, Nicolas Cage, gets in his Škoda 100; accelerating sharply he
disappears.
We hang around long enough to meet Helena. She will not
sing due to her illness. Healthy as she is she will not sing.
I am about to take a picture of a completely disembowelled
car wreck lying on its roof. A few women order me not to
photograph it. They saw a film on dirty Gypsies on TV. After
seeing that derogatory film people would think all Romanies are
dirty and messy. I defend myself explaining that it is not my fault
that the wreck lies there. (To be frank, this wreck was the largest
Žeňa, Helena, Veronika, Marcelka (starting from the right)
and worst “dirt” in the whole, neat camp. My neighbour keeps
can speak the Romany language no more .
three car wrecks in the front of his house on a busy street in
Bratislava. Well, there is a small difference, though. His wrecks
are not overturned.)
We have heard a remark about the film many times during our expedition. There may have been a documentary film
about the Romany from Spiš, poor, if not the poorest of all, on television. Others, feeling only little better–all of them
feel little better, by the way–were very distressed and offended. Some even refused to finish watching it, they were so
furious. So, we gathered no songs in Stakčín. At least we got another tip, Michal and Robo, the Kaššos from Humenné
Podskalka.
The next stop: Ulič.
We ask where the church is. A chatty woman shows us the way. We are a couple of kilometres from the Ukraine
border. Greek-Catholic or Orthodox parish house? Which do we want? Most Romany families are Jehovah’s Witnesses.
That is a new trend here. The woman says, “Now they are clean and they have learned much.”
O
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In his leisure time, a priest, Maroš Prejsa, assembles a wardrobe at
home in the Greek-Catholic parish office building. He is ready to go with
us-as soon as he gets changed into his habit-into the cerkva, church. A Saint
Nicholas church comes from the first half of the 18th century. At the back
of the church, close to the entrance there is a babinec, a room for women, used
in the past. There are 500 Orthodox, 371 Greek-Catholics, 30 RomanCatholics, 80 Jehovah’s Witnesses and 100 atheists according to the last
census.
The priest promises to take us to Uličské Krivé and open the wooden
church for us.
In the meantime, we stroll up and down through the village. Two
Romany women stand in front of Mix-Groceries holding a Jehovah’s
Witness magazine, Strážna veža. The slightly drunk laddie, Zdeno, reasons
that people do not sing much here, “All of them try to catch up with
Božena, the head of the family, oversees the house order.
modern times.” It seems a song is a great obstacle, according to Zdeno’s
philosophy.
We listen to a little singing in one yard. There is a very small girl
whose relatives have high hopes for her and are very proud of her. That is a phenomenon in many Romany families–as
soon as parents or grandparents consider a child talented with future prospects to become, let’s say, a singer in
Bratislava–they strictly prefer that child to its siblings.
The small church of Uličské is a charming, Byzantine, Carpathian-Ruthenes type. It used to be located in the upper
village. Later, it was dismantled and replaced. There is a nave, sanctuary and babinec, too. The archangel, Michal, the
patron saint of the church, is from the beginning of the 18th century, while the oldest icons originate from the 16th
century. Behind the iconostasis where women were forbidden there is an old liturgical book. The priest told us a GreekCatholic legend about the Roman-Catholic, Veronika’s, scarf. Here they call it a non-handmade picture. King Apgar in
Africa was ill so he sent a messenger to seek out the true existence of Jesus and his magic. Jesus Christ imprinted his face
in the fabric and that was the picture the king’s servant brought back. The king was cured.
Ulič’s surrounding is beautiful, but songs are the reason why we are here. We decide upon Ubľa, the last camp
before the Ukraine border. We take a bad, and longer than necessary, way to get there. We are rewarded with only one
advantage of our way: the village of Topola and a small, wooden church on the top of a hill.
So we are in Ubľa, two kilometres from the border. We ask a woman at the bus stop about the camp. She has no
knowledge about any camp, Romany live in a village. They are scattered in houses, not segregated, she explains. Daňa
stops a young Romany woman with a small girl to ask for a house where people sing. The woman knows where people
sing–at her place. The girl runs ahead. We are allowed to park our car in their yard. A magnificent, artificial flower
decoration greets us in a tiny anteroom. The family consists of only women and girls at the moment. The oldest daughter
inhabits the house. Her husband is at work. The other women are guests. Eva, the mother, with a discernible Czech
accent, comes from Bohemia. The oldest daughter is eight months pregnant. Her mother watches her carefully to prevent
her from pre-labour that some difficult move may cause. Then we have Veronika, a pretty daughter. She is the manager
of all cultural and family socialising activities. She finished grammar school and was not allowed to continue at
secondary school despite her desire to do so. Her mother keeps her at home because she is worried about her. Helena
comes next. She is said to be the prettiest (she won a ‘Miss’ competition; it might have been some village competition;
we learn that it was an event organised by Veronika for two families. She rehearsed the programme with her sisters. They
also prepared other performances; television obviously inspires them.) The youngest daughter’s name is Eugenia, a quiet
and modest girl resembling Pocahontas, called Žeňa. Eva’s sister is our guide. A small girl, Marcelka is a cousin of all
the girls. A friend of theirs is also there, her appearance is as if she was made by Modigliani, ugly and beautiful. She does
not wish to be photographed. Good relationships in this family are confirmed by constant mutual touches. Knowing
many songs, the girls sometimes sing without thinking about and understanding the sung text. They have no idea
whether they sing in Romany or Šariš dialect. Their mother guides them. There was a nice song among many modern
pieces, some of them in Slovak. Mother Eva may know a few of the songs, but she does not sing. The girls dance in a
fast, modern style. They make coffee for us. Jana’s finger gets stuck in the handle of a cup. We laugh a lot. The girls see
something similar to the tale of ‘Stupid Sam’, later preferring a tale about a ‘Wise Will’. What an interesting family and
what an interesting time we had at their house. We say good-bye.
We hesitate over whether to go back to the hotel or head into another camp. Standing at the crossroads, we choose
Klenová. Snina, with our beds, can wait.
Slightly reluctant, the Gunár family from the first house welcomes us. This household also seemed lacking in men.
However, some man must have been present due to plenty of children around. The men are at work. A good sign despite
the fact that it is only a short-term job. The house is clean. Baba, grandma, Božena Gunárová wears the trousers in this
family–she looks after the household and keeps the children under control. She wears a pink T-shirt with teddy bears.
Teddy bears hang on the ceiling lamp as if sentenced to death. Božena is Monika’s mother-in-law. Monika is the spirit
of the family. Everyone asks for her advice. She does not sing, however she definitely can. She remembers old songs and
chooses pieces to sing. We look at pretty Nikolka. We listen to Erika. She is trying her best to assert herself (as well as
others). Baba prefers her granddaughter, Gabika. We notice the mutual touching in this family. The adults speak Romany
and for the first time during our journey the children understand them. In other places, while trying to adapt as much
113
as possible they use a dialect and forget their mother tongue. We notice
the typical phenomenon again. Grandmother Božena is strongly
convinced that the small granddaughter with her sweet voice has great
future prospects with a conservatory in Bratislava. Then she will rise
higher and higher. (As far as anyone can predict the future we might work
as the first step Gabika will take toward stardom.) Grandma Božena
shamelessly promotes Gabika. Božena is very angry about our taste for
Erika’s husky voice. Grandma Božena drives Erika away, but her
granddaughter feels more courageous with our support. Her assertiveness
is successful. Gabika only encourages her. The girls holding hands do not
care about the adult’s silent fight. The other (husky-voiced) children join
Erika’s singing one by one.
Generally, when elderly people sing in this end of the world, we can
identify the singer’s relatives-often siblings-in the surrounding crowd.
Gabika, in a striped T-shirt, and Erika have not yielded
Especially those old songs, which the singer’s mother once used to sing,
to the dumb adult rivalry; they hold each other’s hand
make the singer cry and soften and look for an allied soul.
while singing.
There is a stoat skin hanging on the wall. Either the fur is artificial
or the poor stout was stretched before passing away.
“Fourteen siblings they were”, baba Božena says. Many of her brothers died; only six girls and two brothers are left.
Her mother (pregnant at that time with the second oldest woman who sang for us–Helena) was in the concentration
camp, as well as her father–in Terezin. Now, they have received financial compensation for their mother; the siblings split
up the amount with each receiving 3600 crowns.
Čhavale mirale,
bari nasvaľi som,
uchanen mro šero
bo me na birinav.
My dear children,
I’m very sick.
Comb ye my hair
‘cause I have no strength.
Jaj, on mange phende,
že len nane časos.
A mange sas časos
pandžen te baravel.
They have told me
that no time do they have.
But I had more time
to raise five kids.
Džal paňi, džal paňi
tele le foroha,
jaj, oda na paňori
oda mre japsora.
Water’s flowing, flowing,
through the city.
Alas, it is not water
it is my tears.
Dalke, mri dajori,
phagle mri musori.
Bar la the te phagľas,
ča la te diňas.
Mommy, my mommy,
they broke my arm.
Though they broke it,
I am the one who has it.
Mac mi f čarnej žemi,
ocec še nam žeňi,
hej bere mladu ženu
a mi široti.
Mother’s in the black ground
father’s getting married.
He’s marrying a young woman
orphans we are left.
Peren prajta, peren,
ča man na učharen.
Ča man na učharen
šargona čikaha.
Foliage’s falling, falling,
it alone won’t cover me.
I won’t just be covered
by the yellow earth.
Sar man učharena,
o čhave rovena,
gav gavestar phirna,
la da orovena.
When I am covered,
children will be crying.
They’ll be wandering through villages
crying for their mother.
Božena Gunárová, Klenová 2002
On our way back from Klenová to Snina, the border police stop us, checking our identity cards for the second time
today. It takes a long time. The unpleasant policemen look for a Ukraine in our trunk.
(Tuesday, April 24, 2002, Stakčín, Ulič, Ubľa, Klenová)
114
MICHAL AND HIS GROUP
early the whole day, Wednesday, we are busy in the camp of
Humenné Podskalka. The camp is situated a little bit behind the
town. A man we asked for direction mentions a lot of dirt in the camp.
Well, there is no dirt there, just a different country with different customs.
Michal Kaššo from Podskalka is a special feature there. Now retired, he
used to work–forty-four years–as a teacher at the local–special–grammar
school. Children attend the camp school for two years and afterwards
they travel to the town. At first, Michal Kaššo hesitates to cooperate. We
have to encourage him for a while before he decides to manage the matter.
He is a very respected person, an authority. He taught not only the older
adults but also others and their children. He describes his choir, Anglal
(Ahead), established by musicians that left or that married in Humenné
and its surrounding after war. He also recalls filming a documentary film
behind the camp with his choir for farmers. He used to be–and still is–a
Michal Kaššo, a former teacher from Podskalka,
very active man managing the whole school and having been a deputy in
a highly involved man.
the past. Once he makes up his mind, he is willing to help us to track
down some singers. He goes to change his trousers.
Our first stop in Podskalka is a shipping container in the middle of a yard with some other dwellings behind it. The
container serves as a room–two beds, chairs, the TV set on a side table with a small tablecloth, an old cupboard, artificial
flowers on the walls and a frame with family photographs instead of the picture. Someone grieves and cannot sing.
Someone makes excuses for a pain in his throat. Mr. Kaššo does always manage to sit someone in the singer’s chair. They
speak Romany among them.
A small girl wearing a leather coat sings. Director Kaššo encourages her to relax and warm up. The girl,
challenged by his gestures, is amazing; she has got a wonderfully husky voice that is even huskier from the cold she has
caught. Kaššo thinks she does not sing her best. He says, “She
slurs word endings.” When Kaššo is about to play he tunes all
the strings of a guitar that a young man has played so far. Then
women–mothers sing. Two of them, joining shyly later, wear
sleeveless T-shirts, one with big breasts, the other muscular and
thin. She twists a kitchen towel in her hands. It looks like she
hasn’t finished her housework and has come to sing. We hear a
voice behind the door saying, “Gypsy, play nicely, don’t hum!”
A man called Róbert Ferko dressed completely in snow white
comes in. A little drunk as he has admitted, his eyes crossed, he
takes the guitar and plays Olas songs. He plays very well. It
sounds like all-the-men-of-the-world sorrow. People wear silver
jewellery; they touch each other; spectators change in the
doorway. The man in white finishes playing and disappears after
dancing a while. A young boy, Rado, takes the guitar while
The girl has a naturally gruff voice and even more hoarse
discussing with a teacher in which key–d-major or g-major–he
from having a cold-wonderful.
should play... Mr. Kaššo persuades us to come back to the school
in the afternoon. The children will come back from town and
will rehearse. They can sing for us. Half of the choir is in Strakonice in Bohemia. A teacher says, “They will be as spoiled
there as the Earl Monte Christo.” (He did not specify which part of the novel he meant.)
It is very choir-like at the school in the afternoon. Nothing special for us. The school building is an oblong, plated
shack with leaking and dilapidated walls, but quite nice inside. They are not able to get money to build a new school.
No promise from the authorities has been kept so far. A second school
building used to stand opposite it, but it burned down. Kaššo shows us
the location of an old Romany camp that was demolished in the fifties.
People sent to the blocks of flats down town are non-payers now. There is
a plan to build a new block of flats in the camp. Local Romany–decent
people–are afraid of the newcomers that will move in and of the conflicts
that may easily arise, as it often happens between them and, to be frank,
among Slovaks, as well. Women–mother and daughter–wash a carpet in
the river using a scrubbing brush and detergent. I ask for permission to
take a picture. The mother refuses and offers her daughter–very
pretty–many pictures of her were taken already. There is a cemetery by the
river. Before our departure we take a couple of mass photos.
N
A man–all in white, snow-white–came.
115
Na diňan man o gulo Del
aj de mire čhavorenca.
Aj de na kamel man miri romňi,
aj de aňi mire čhaven.
Aj adaďives baro šveto
aj de mire čhavorenca.
You didn’t allow me, sweet God,
(to be) with my children.
My wife loves neither me,
nor my children.
Today’s a big holiday,
(I am) with my children.
Slavo, Podskalka 2002
Te vašoda te me ajsi čorori,
sako raťi tel oblačka pes čhives.
Ma phir pal ma,
b’imar me tut na kamav,
šaj andre tu tiro jilo pukinel.
‘Cause I’m so very poor,
each night you wait under my window.
Do not come to me
‘cause I don’t want you,
even if your heart breaks.
Michal Kaššo, Podskalka 2002
Jaj, de cinďom mange,
cinďom trin kale diľi.
Jaj, kole muja, sar miri daj me?
Jaj, de mange merel a man love nane.
Jaj miri dale, prekas te man mukhes?
Alas, I bought myself,
I bought three black boards.
Alas, whose mother died as did mine?
Alas, my mother died and I have no money.
Alas, my mother, who did you leave me to?
Jaj, mukhes u man, mukhes
pro baro čoripen.
Pro baro čoripen le čhavoren.
Alas, you left me, left me
with great poverty.
With great poverty with children.
Jaj dale, miri dale,
so čoro kerava?
So čoro kerava,
te man ňiko nane.
Alas, mommy, my mommy,
poor me, what shall I do?
Poor me, what shall I do
when I have no one?
Jaj akor o vilagos,
kana e daj dživel.
A sar e daj merlas,
pre kaste man mukhel?
Alas, then is life great
when mom is alive.
When mother dies,
who does she leave me to?
Jaj, phenav tuke, phenav,
že ma mukh tu man, dale.
Mukhes tu man, mukhes,
pro baro čoripen.
Alas, I’m telling you, telling,
don’t leave me, mommy.
You’ll leave me, leave me
with great poverty.
Taj o Roma vriskinen,
že man murdaren.
Taj ma marel man, Devla,
bo man ňiko nane.
Romanies are shouting
that they’ll kill me.
Don’t you beat me, God,
‘cause I have no one.
Jaj, so me, čoro, kerava,
kaj e daj mange muľa?
A e daj mange muľas,
o dad romňa ľiľas.
Alas, poor me, what will I do
when my mother died?
My mother died,
my father married.
Ko kode, ko kode,
tel oblačka mange durkinkerlas?
Jaj, te del o Devla, kaj durkinel,
jaj e miri šukar, jaj, de rovel.
Who is there, who is there,
who’s knocking on my window?
Alas, God willing, they’ll be knocking,
alas, my beauty’s crying.
Jaj, avri man vičinel
a me čoro naštik te me geľav.
Jaj, so čoro me, jaj, kerav?
Alas, she’s calling me outside
and, poor me, I could not go.
Alas, poor me, what will I do?
Róbert Ferko, Podskalka 2002
118
We cannot make anyone sing in the camp of Kamenica. A young
woman pushes a pram up the hill with two or three children around
her. We try to take a picture of her. Very angry and frustrated, she
warns us not to do it. Her husband is in prison. We give up. It is dead
here. Between half past five and half past six life slows down here due
to TV series and soap operas on TV. A flock of children remains with
us. They take us up and down the village. A woman asks me to take a
picture the exterior of her house. We are not allowed inside. “My
husband sleeps there,” she says. She promises to sing for us provided I
take a photo of her house. As soon as I finish she disappears like a
ghost. A small girl is boasting about her wonderful first communion
dress. She is willing to put it on. Within a second she negates what she
has said. We are confused. Daňa, doubting, sends her to dress up. With
a ‘no problem’ reply, the girl surprises us by coming back wearing a
The old lady Mária makes a nice match
white dress like a bridesmaid. We photograph the tableau of her and
with her son, Eduard.
the tree in white blossoms. A set of violin strings helps us to arrange a
singing and playing session on Saturday. We get a cell phone number.
(I have to say this in advance so as not to forget it later: No Saturday Kamenica date will happen.)
Quite a busy Wednesday ends in Sedliská–a village that looks as if it is located at the absolute end of the world.
We park our car behind the white part of the village next to the church and walk into the camp. The dogs,
alastatians, watching outside the cottage and ready to jump anytime, do not bark, do not move, and do not give a
damn. We are afraid of them. A car appears on the road. The children run after it, the dogs run after it. We stop at
the first cottage that looks inhabited. Two young girls welcome us and take us inside. The adults watch a TV series.
Musicians play at parties, but they can’t play ancient songs, they say. The interior is neat and nicely furnished. The
girls are shy at first. Then, one dressed in a triangular shaped sweater becomes more courageous. What do they think
about our picture taking? Many of them enjoy posing... A small boy shows off performing somersaults. Each time
he stays lying on the floor with his legs up. We spot his willy through a hole in his trousers. After coffee is served it
becomes very clear that no old songs will follow.
We move next door. Small kids, a bit crazy now, crash into our bags. An adolescent holds a child in one hand
and a ‘calculator’ game in the other hand. We are sent to the upper house. Old lady Mária and her son, Eduard Fako,
sing. It suits them. They recall their memories. A chatty, drunken man constantly disturbs us and swears in Romany.
Whispering, Ivan translates his words. I reply sharply to the drunken man so it looks as if I understand him. He
calms down, but only for a while. He makes jokes, enjoys himself with two women. His pregnant wife sitting on the
other side does not mind their kisses and touches. Finally, a very strong-faced man takes the noisy, drunk chap away
to the next room. They are angry with the chap. The bad image-maker is kept out of our room despite his wishes
to enter.
Afraid of dogs, we ask a few little girls to escort us to our car. They, like Ivan, resemble some handsome Esteban
from their favourite soap opera. They are willing to go. Ivan and the TV beau are also put together later at other
visits.
Sulachardžom la romňake,
že paľenka na pijava.
Me la cindžom, me la piľom,
de odi vera premardžiľom.
(de le čhavendar na bajinďom)
I swore to my wife
that I’d drink no liquor.
I bought it, I drank it,
I broke my oath.
(I cared not about my children.)
Sedliská 2002; Žehňa 1988; Béla Pokuta and Irena Horváthová, Žehra – Dreveník 2001
Pijav mange, pijav le mire phralorenca.
Jaj, de prepiľama love,
jaj, de mire phralorenca.
I’m drinking, drinking with my brothers.
Boozed away the money
oh, with my brothers.
E čhave roven, ma rov mange.
E de katar lenge lava,
joj, de te man love nane.
Children are crying; don’t you cry.
Where will I take the money
if I have none for them.
Eduard Fako with his mother, Sedliská 2002
We got a tip about a camp that goes by the charming name Vechec.
It seems we have squeezed everything possible out of the “Far East”. We sleep in Snina, in the middle of the woods,
for the last night. Tomorrow, we move to Vranov and Topľou, an ugly town, at the edge of which we booked
accommodation so that we will be able to reach camps easily.
(Wednesday, April 24, 2002, Humenné – Podskalka, Kamenica, Sedliská)
119
IN VECHEC
echec is divided into three parts. The lower part is poorer with few wealthier brick houses, especially on the street
that looked like a real seedy area, where loan sharks might hang out. Fat people offer their songs for money. They
don’t care about our expedition and research; it is money that they care about. (Well, why should they care? Why take
this indifference–sincere or pretended–in a Romany camp from a
negative point of view?) A tall, white, middle-aged, slightly drunk man
guides us a little. Intrusively, he wants to get into our car to take us
somewhere else. At the same time, he tries to persuade us to buy his
house. Using a set of guitar strings as a bribe we can enter a hut. The
floor is rugged; PVC probably covers only hardened soil. I think this is
the first time a table is being cleaned up. We may have interrupted
someone’s meal. Kitchen tables are usually absolutely clean and cleared
away–giving the impression that they are hardly used. A one-eyed guitar
player, Dušan, plays for us too loudly. His mother, Helena
Červeňáková, seventy-four years old, sings. However lifeless her
performance is, we are glad to hear new songs. One of many spectators
holds a key. It may be a sign of her locked house–a rare
phenomenon–before coming to stare at us. Ivan is identified as a TV
star, Esteban. Granny takes off her sweater, singing and memories have
The old woman, Helena, singing a song from
made her hot. After a while she can’t remember a song she that she sang
a concentration camp.
and which Jana wants to listen to again. Granny is a very dry person.
She sings a song from a concentration camp.
V
Merav pal e parochňa,
miro šero strihinena.
Ma strihinen miro šero,
plašinen man pro taboris.
I’m dying because of my wig,
all of it will be cut.
Do not cut my hair,
I’m driven out into a concentration camp.
Joj, Devlale, so kerava,
de kaj mro šero, joj, thovava?
Thovav me le šerandeske,
mre čhavore pašal mande.
Oh, God, what will I do,
where will I lay my head?
I lay it on a pillow,
my children (are) around me.
Helena Červeňáková, Vechec 2002
Merav dale, merav,
ňičos man na dukhal.
Ej, de te meren mušinav, joj,
la bara žaľatar.
I’m dying, mommy, dying,
nothing’s hurting me.
Eh, I have to die
alas, from a big grief.
Hej, so tejle del, tel o šerpa,
man dikhava.
De ki na avel pal man,
mri daj le čhavenca.
Hey, what she takes off, under the sash
I will see.
If she doesn’t come to me,
she–my mother with children.
Ej avela, avela,
rozmukhle balenca.
Rozmukhle balenca,
Joj, rovľare jakhenca.
Eh, she’ll come, come,
with flowing hair.
With flowing hair,
oh, with weeping eyes.
Helena Červeňáková, Vechec 2002
120
Te me merav,
šukares man parunen.
Jaj mire čhaven
pal o mochto me mukhen.
When I die,
bury me nicely.
Alas, my children
let them walk behind the coffin.
Merav, mamo, merav,
joj, te merel mušinav.
Ej te merel mušinav,
jaj, la bara dukhatar.
I’m dying, mommy, dying,
oh, I have to die.
Eh, I have to die
alas, from a great pain.
Jaj, čhavale mirale,
aven kija mande,
ej, bo me imar merav,
la bara dukhatar.
Alas, my dear children,
come to me.
Eh, ‘cause I’m dying
from a great pain.
Helena Červeňáková, Vechec 2002; Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002; Martinka and Ferko Ďuďovci, Soľ 2002;
Anna Žigová, Dlhé Stráže 2002
We move about a half kilometre into the middle–typical and more like the Spiš style–part of the camp. (We will not
visit the upper part of the blocks of flats hidden in the woods.) A handsome laddie is approaching us. I’ve got a feeling
I’ve met him already. We begin our merry-go-round song about who we are and what we want. Smiling he cuts us
short–he knows us from Sedliská where he helped his baba. (Now we remember. Yes, it happened in Sedliská–a strange
moment–a man clutching a wrench entered a hut in the middle of a tense moment when the mother and her son were
singing and that drunken chap was provoking. All whites have got an idea for another possible use of the wrench. The
wrench man is a Vechcaner who welcomes us. His name is Juraj Červeňák). He takes us into the camp.
A couple asks us for a picture. By the time we are ready there are
another thirteen people, mostly children, besides the two of them in the
frame. There are nice wells in this area. Small houses built around them,
the wells remind one of rotundas in richer dwellings and backwoodsman
huts in poorer dwellings.
We ask if anyone will sing for us. Well, they will but the guitar is
missing. While we wait outside chatting, taking pictures, someone goes to
borrow one. The young boys ask where we come from. They know
Bratislava’s surroundings, Čara, for example. They’ve got work on the
side there, vine cutting and tying. We discover that we do not speak about
Čara, but Rača. They haven’t received their wages and are uncertain
whether they will ever spend more money on travelling there and back so
far. At least they are busy with something. Here we have the guitar. We are
invited into one cottage. The landlady is dressed in a black and white
polka-dotted T-shirt. Vechec is a village full of nice, suitable, ‘singing-inWe recorded many beginnings, but few endings in Vechec.
a-kitchen’ surnames–Mrs. Vidličková (Mrs. Littlefork), Mrs. Rezanková
(Mrs. Noodle). Armless, bent cross-eyed Marcela with bad teeth croons,
as well. Despite her handicap she is well respected in this society. We
notice a completely different attitude in the Romany–quite the reverse of the whites–towards their disabled members, as
if they possess some surreal capabilities. Three old women begin to sing, later the younger ones join in. One of them
recites more than she sings. She also promises to perform Olaš songs. Her promise remains unfulfilled. An exchange of
guitar players. Our wrench man, Juraj, plays more gently. In the room, a TV set holds a very dignified and decorated
place, like a shrine. We witness a special rivalry in this cottage: two groups of musicians each wish to sing their own way.
Once the first group begins the second interrupts with remarks, usually succeeds in stopping it completely and then the
second group begins to sing itself in almost the same way. Then the first group begins again. As a result, we record many
song beginnings, but few endings. There is a telephone under the TV set. We are surprised to hear it ringing. It sounds
very strange in this atmosphere. The guitar players change again. Juraj has to take care of his sleepy son and carries him
away. A woman wearing a floral print apron has a tattoo on her arm: LRE DEO DURI. They speak Romany here.
We are hardly able to breathe as all the air in the hut is used up and the meal of goje is boiling on the stove. The
father bids his son to come closer to the microphone with his guitar. The son does not obey. His father pulls him closer,
still sitting on a chair.
One fact becomes clear (and more sad), the poorer and more pitiful the Romany are, the nicer the old songs they
can sing and the more spontaneous and....Romany they are.
Ivan is connected with the TV star, Esteban, again. Mourning halgato songs are called weeping songs here. What a
nice stop in our journey it was! Thank you.
121
Ajsi bari rači
n’ajsi la pregejľom,
miri žaľa našči me zasučom.
Such a great (dark) night,
I couldn’t endure it.
(Because of) my grief I couldn’t fall asleep.
Andr’odi špitaľa štar vilaňa labon,
dikhav, kaj na labol,
kaj miri daj pašľol.
In the hospital, four lights are on.
I can see where the lights are off,
it’s where my mother’s lying.
Sar me les de dava,
ko pal ma dikhela?
Či na avel pal ma
mri phuri dajori.
When I sleep with him,
who will watch me,
whether or not she’s following me,
my grandmother?
Vechec horný, 2002
Ej, mamočičko moja, či ja už ňe tvoja?
Ej, že ši mi nakladla do perini šena.
Eh, my dearest mother, am I no longer yours?
That you put hay into my duvets?
Ej, do perini šena, do ladi kameňa,
aj kedz bi ja ňebula s toho pokorena.
Hay into my duvets, stones into my wooden chest,
how could I not feel humiliated?
Ej mamčo moja, mamčo, co ja narobela,
jaj, že ja svoju macir do vody driľela?
Eh, mommy, my mommy, what did I do
alas, that I pushed my mother into the water?
Jaj, aka že ja chora, daj me do špitaľu,
jaj polož me na posciľ, z bilu plachtu prikrij.
Alas, how sick I am, send me to a hospital.
Lay me in a bed, cover me with a white sheet.
Ej zbohom mamo zbohom, bo ja už zomiram.
Adieu, mama, adieu, ‘cause I’m dying.
Vechec 2002
Dalke miri, dalke,
i phuč tu, mandar, phuč, jaj,
so man dukhal, Devla,
mro jiloro dukhal man.
My dear mother, dear mother,
ask me, ask, alas,
what’s hurting me, God.
My heart’s aching.
Mire čhavore
phares čore, jaj ačhiľine.
So me, Devla, te kerava,
ko len, Devla, ľikerela?
My children,
very poor were they left.
What, God, will I do?
Who, God, will take care of them?
Mamo miri mamo miri,
čuchin mange mro jiloro.
Andre mande miro jilo
žaľatar pukinla.
My mommy, my mommy,
caress my little heart.
My heart inside me
will break from grief.
Baro svetos avel,
a me na avava.
Ej, phuč tu mandar, dalke,
so me, čori, me kerava,
so man dukhal miro jilo.
The whole world is coming
and I’ll be no more.
Ask me, mommy,
poor me, what will I do,
why is my heart aching.
Kaskere ola čhave,
kas dajori nane?
Ej pal e dvori phiren,
kotor maro mangen.
Whose children are these
who have no mother?
Eh, they’re walking through the yards
asking for a piece of bread.
Kaskere ola čhave,
kaj pro šancos bešen?
Aňi e daj, aňi o dad,
lendar na bajinen.
Whose children are these
sitting in a ditch?
Neither father nor mother
are taking care of them.
122
So tele de phirava,
furt palal dikhava,
de na avel pal ma
mri phuri dajori.
When I come down,
I will keep looking backwards.
She’s not coming to me–
my dear grandmother.
Avel oj, avel oj,
rozmukhle balenca.
Rozmukhle balenca,
rovľarde jakhenca.
There she’s coming, coming
with flowing hair.
With flowing hair,
with weeping eyes.
Vechec 2002
Ej, de pijav andre žaľa,
jaj, miri romňi pal ma te na avel.
Bo so me pijav andre žaľa,
jaj a mariben khere ľiľav.
Eh, from grief do I drink,
alas, if only she wouldn’t come to me.
‘Cause I drink from grief,
alas, at home I’ll get hit.
Vechec 2002
Cindžom pochtanoro
pro kalo gadoro.
Ko les mange sivla?
Mri phuri dajori.
I bought linen
for my dear shirt.
Who will make it for me?
My dearest, old grandma.
Sivla mange, sivla,
mri phuri dajori.
Oj de Devla na bajinel
mre jilestar o rat čuľal.
She will make it, make it,
my dearest old grandma.
She won’t care, my God
my heart is bleeding.
Vechec 2002; Soľ 2002
We are in the camp of Zamutov which was highly recommended by
excellent musicians. We are sent into one house. We go there. Men are
mending a mower. They resist our convincing efforts to make them sing.
The younger man says he does not sing, but his seventy-seven year old
father, Jozef Kroka Česlak, plays the violin; he is the leader of a famous
band. However, this band does not play Romany but gadžo, Slovak folk
songs. An unpleasant atmosphere at first begins to turn positive after a
bottle of vodka is promised for reward. We enter the house. Daňa and
Ivan go to buy a bottle at the local grocery. (“Do not go to whites–make
business with us.”) When they come back they describe the situation of
the shop closed during soap opera time on TV and open again only after
the credits have passed. A shop assistant measured the half litre of vodka
with a washed beer bottle. In the meantime, we are waiting for the second
man of the band (Juraj Ovšak Gubo, 66) as well as for the bottle of
The second violinist, Gubo (in the back), and the first
vodka. Later, they drink it tot by tot in a slow, sophisticated manner. They
violinist, Česlak, are professionals; they have had
offer us a drink. The youngsters in the camp have a band, too. They only
performances abroad.
play modern koro songs. The second man comes, a Romany sort of
Melkovič. He rounds his head, his eyes; he feels the music and holds his
violin in a strange way. Their show is great. Professionals as they are, musicians who have performed abroad, as well.
There is a piece of cloth with two geese with bows painted on it and the wish, “Wilkommen”, hanging above the second
man. After they speak about Germany (“The audience called, ‘Aplaus, aplaus!’” they tell us), Janka asks whether that is
a souvenir from their travels abroad. “No, the Ukraines import it.” The first man’s house is a one-floored cube, wellmaintained. The style of decoration reveals genuine Romany blood. There is a big difference between the first and
second man: the first one is clean and looks smart (his left thumb is missing), the second is stubbly and has stained, dirty
clothes ...
Someone says, “They went to bed and we–crazy people–still have fun.”
123
Eňa ori rači,
kameha man te sovel,
o but Roma
te marel man kamena.
Ušči phrala, richtin tuke o thover
a me mange porichtinav e čhuri.
Nine in the evening,
I would like to sleep,
but many Romanies
would like to kill me.
Rise up, brothers, make ready the axes
and I make ready my knife.
Kroka, Zamutov 2002; Bystrany 2001; Hermanovce 2002; Mária Husárová, Jarovnice 2001;
Béla Pokuta, Žehra – Dreveník 2001
(Thursday, April 25, 2002, Vechec, Zamutov)
SALT BURNED OUR EYES
here is no camp in the village of Rudlov, but Romany do
live in a few houses. Jana’s friend lives in this village. We
stop at her house, talk to each other. She takes us to a Romany
family and they take us to another one. An old auntie sits on
the bench while her husband, Michal Čikala, and a son-in-law
unload wood from the wagon in their yard. The son-in-law
speaks Czech; he is intelligent. He seems very active and
smart. He says that he has all of the civil associations
addresses at home. As we reply to his question about which
association we represent, he confirms, “Yes, yes, I’ve got you
there.” A small boy with sick eyes plays in the yard. Baba does
not sing; her throat aches; she has cleansing water, too. There
are two huts in the yard. In the first, the older generation
lives–that is only a kitchen; the second hut–those are only
Michal Čikala: “Vain is the writing of someone who hasn’t
rooms and no kitchen. We are invited into the second–there is
wandered the world.”
a little laundry mess. Granddad is ready to sing; his grandson
will help him. Granddad speaks more than sings. “Our fathers
helped farmers for a single bun or a slice of bread.” He bought the hut; he has trees, a pig and breeds chickens. At
eight years old he began to tend cattle with no time left to learn to read or write. But he has travelled extensively-he
knows a lot about the world: “For what one can write if he did not travelled round the world.” Uncle regrets that he
can’t read. Romany would live better if they were economical, but they are very strong-minded. Granddad has got
six children. They weave baskets and brooms. He used to work as a bricklayer. He restored castles in Bohemia. The
foreman (from Čaklov) only said what needed to be done and granddad took the leadership after him. The foreman
could leave. His father was a shoemaker. Granddad was in a work camp. “If you save money, you have money, if you
do not save, you do not have money. Romany put money into machines (gamblers).” During the Second World War
he was recruited. Romany were chosen and taken for menial duty. They wore brown wristbands and a black collar
on their uniform. After their work was finished they were sent into the gas chamber. There was a work camp in Petic.
They worked in Hanušovce, Čierna nad Topľou. They were beaten when behind in the work schedule. They ate
beans, peas, and wholegrain bread. Grandson brings his primer, reads from it and counts up to 40. He will be seven
soon. We drink wine made by the granddad. Tasty. There is a magnificent decoration on the walls. Granddad hardly
sings and he adds new verse lines–their words are from the war and the camp–to the mourning song that all Romany
know and we hear everywhere.
T
Čhajori romaňi, joj,
ker mange jagori,
nacikňi, nabari, joj,
čarav tro voďori.
Little Romany girl, alas,
make me a fire,
neither small, nor big, oh,
I adore you.
So džava, mre dada, joj,
so pal ma dikhava.
Či pal man na avel, jaj,
o šinguno maren man.
For what will I go, my fathers, oh,
for what will I look at myself?
Whether or not a policeman will come to me
to beat me up.
Aven jona, aven, joj,
igen rovibnaha.
A so? Chuden mariben
o čore Romora.
They will come, will come, oh,
with great weeping,
and then? They’ll get a beating,
poor Romanies.
124
Mek ča dural avav,
de imar mandar phučel,
de imar mandar phučel,
joj, kaske romňa iľom.
I barely come from far, oh,
right away I’m asked.
Right away I’m asked
whose wife I married.
Geľom mange, geľom,
khatar Baro Šatar,
nadur Baro Šatar,
jaj, čarav tro voďori.
I was walking, walking, oh,
from Veľký Šariš.
Near Veľký Šariš, oh,
oh, I adore you.
Andr’oda taboris, jaj,
phares buči kerav,
ňič na chav, na pijav, jaj,
de le trapenenca kerav.
In the camp
I work hard.
I eat nothing, I drink nothing,
I work in misery.
Andr’oda taboris
phares buťi kerav.
Phares buťi kerav
vaš o šuko maro.
In the camp, oh,
I do hard work.
I do hard work, oh,
for dry bread.
Dalke miri, dalke,
jaj, kaj thodžan le čhaven?
Čidžom andro paňi,
jaj, de chalen len o mačhe.
My dear mother, dear mother, oh,
where did you put your children?
I threw them in the water, oh,
the fish are eating them.
Na somas me khere, jaj,
na džanav, ko avľas.
Avľas mri piraňi, jaj,
šukar čhaj romaňi.
I was not at home,
I know not who came.
My girlfriend came, oh,
a pretty Romany girl.
But oda, but oda, jaj,
de Cikňa Šarišatar.
De Cikňa Šarišatar, joj,
de mek mariben chudav.
It’s a lot, a lot
from Malý Šariš.
In Malý Šariš, oh,
oh, I get a beating as well.
Avľas mri daj khere, joj,
de phučľom mra romňatar.
De phučľom mra romňatar, joj
kaj me la de mukhľom.
Did my mother come home, alas?
I asked my wife,
I asked my wife, alas,
‘cause I left her.
Neraz už to býva, hej
že sa Cigán skrýva.
Za čiernym lesom sa skrýva, jaj,
veľká bida ide.
(one verse in Slovak)
Often it is like that, hey,
that a Romany is hiding.
Hiding beyond the black forest, alas,
great misery is coming.
Michal Čikala, Rudlov 2002; Kalma, Žehňa 1988, Jarovnice 2001; Karol Sivák senior, Zborov 2001; Zborov – Vatrisko;
Justína Dunková, Žehra 2001; Bystrany 2001, Rudňany 2001; Snina 2002; Čemerné 2002;
Kristína Kalejová, Hermanovce 2002; Dana Tišerová, Betlanovce 2002; Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy;
Anna Žigová, Dlhé Stráže 2002
We walk from Rudlov through the field into a camp called Soľ (Salt). We knock at doors like Jehova’s Witnesses;
we repeat the same words like a machine. But the old people living here do not want to sing. They have got a sore
throat, they mourn, and to say a kind good-bye they repeat that the neighbours will sing for us. They speak Romany
here. We see big one-floor houses. Boys on the street play a strange game that I do not like very much: dogs are tied
to pram undercarriages as if to a sledge. The dogs are scared. Everyone sends us to the blind or “saint” musicians;
they are very good, professionals. Bed genes wander in the family of Ďuďas–they strike the eyes and common sense.
We find the blind leader of the band, Soľatar Koro II, in the first house. They do not sing what we ask for. They play
songs from their CD (We believe in God)–only pious songs composed by them along with a remake of
Vondráčková’s hit.
A few houses down in the camp other Ďudas’ live of which two children–well, adults already–suffer from the
same bad gene disorder. Martina Ďuďová is blind, bent and stunted. She sings a song written by her brother and
125
her. An old song that is truly not. Her utterly sad mother offers us
coffee and poppy seed cake. Martina’s father is noisy, jolly, and ready
to drink anytime; he pours wine from a carton into glasses. When
singing–her voice is absolutely non-Romany–Martina snaps her
extremely thin fingers, constantly on the move. She chuckles like a
female character from a thriller. “You might want to see my son also,”
her mother says convincingly as if watching Martina and her brother is
the normal purpose of visits. Honestly, they do not look very nice.
Martina walks only with great difficulty. Eyes diverted, her brother,
Ferko, is unable to walk so uses a wheelchair. Singing, he moves his
fingers like his sister. His side-to-side wobbling resembles machinary
movement. Ferko is very smart and funny. What a discrepancy between
the body and soul! His brother, handsome and healthy, is here with his
pregnant wife. Their small daughter always sits on someone’s lap or at
The king of czardas, Ferko, with his sister Martinka.
least wants to be held. People come and go to see what is happening
here, but there are no crowds like we experienced at Spiš. A laddie
remembers Daňa from their autumn meeting in Svinia. Ferko calls his sluggish songs halgatoni or mulacagi instead of
halgato. Ferko also knows sad, old songs, singing them he is not sad at all. Here we notice the great difference between
two singing styles–old people sing mourning songs very emotionally, but young people are ready to joke if possible.
Martina keeps singing new, self-composed songs. Ferko remembers old ones. Twenty-seven years old, he sings at
parties and has been to Prague where they called him the king of csardasa.
Odkanastar romňa ľiľom,
jaj te mre daja na došundžom.
Voľindžas man odi mri daj
jaj ciknoreske jaj te tasavel.
Since I got a wife
alas, if only I would have obeyed my mother.
It would be better if my mother
alas, had strangled me, alas, when I was little.
Ferko Ďuďa, Soľ 2002
In the evening we go back to Rudlov. We head into the house nearly at the end of the village. Janči, arranged
for us by Jana’s local friend, has been supposed to sing for us since morning. As the singing moment arrives Janci
has to chop wood for his mother. Though we are allowed to visit Janči’s sister, Helena Ferancová. She baths her
diabetic feet in an infusion of camomile. There are pictures painted on the hallway wall. Too full of iron, rusty water
runs out of the water pipes. They do not drink it regularly, but as medicine. They use it only for washing. Fresh
drinking water they get from the well. Auntie talks about her family, “I have got a daughter and a daughter-in-law;
they look the same.” Waiting for some family member to join her singing she speaks about herself. She used to work
in a wood factory. She cut chair and bed legs. She and her
friend, despite an official excuse for their absence, received an
“A” (absence) from their foreman, probably because they were
Gypsy girls. Having lost their job they bought a bottle of
wine. They drank. Wine made them sing. The foreman
hearing them singing began to cry and cried so much he
forgave them for their “A”. Auntie shouts at her daughter or
daughter-in-law to come downstairs and sing for us.
Somebody from upstairs shouts back that she can’t sing due to
mourning. Auntie becomes furious, “What on earth are you
speaking about. If you are mourning then I should know
something about any death of a relative, shouldn’t I?” At last
auntie sings and she cries immediately. “I am very weepy,” she
explains. The song reminds her of her own faith, “I survived
very bad times.” Auntie’s husband is here. He does not sing.
Helena is soaking her diabetic feet in a water pan.
They get on with each other very well. There is a real blonde,
curly-haired and blue-eyed child in the family. Auntie
describes her sons, “My sons can take care of them; they are
very foppish.”
Joj, Devlale, bo som čori,
korunaha na birinav.
Geľom ko phral kečen te len,
o phral phendža, že les nane.
Oh, God, since I’m poor,
the money I have will not be enough.
I went to my brother to get a loan,
my brother said he didn’t have.
128
Te tut nane, na phen avri,
te na džanel e dajori.
Bo sar joj pes dodžanela,
bari žaľa la jela.
When you don’t have, don’t reveal it,
so that our mother won’t know.
‘Cause if she learns about it
great sorrow will seize her.
Helena Ferancová, Rudlov 2002
(Friday, April 26, 2002, Rudlov, Soľ)
BESIDES BÉLA AND RÓBERT JENKO ARE HERE
e spend the major part of the morning shopping and searching
for the pharmacy. Ľuba got the flu. Then we direct our wheels
into nearby Čemerné. We endlessly try to persuade people. They are
sick; they are leaving; they are tidying up; they are about to celebrate;
somebody died; if they had known in advance they would have
prepared themselves and could play for us without having to hurry; but
do not worry, the neighbours will surely sing for you, just try knocking
at their door. Big, really decent houses, sansivieria in pots in the front,
tiled yards, fences... I see, loan sharks. They are not very helpful. We
got a tip–Ďuďa from the block of flats.
On the side of the loan shark quarter are two blocks of flats (later
we discover more of them), creating a border behind which there is
poverty, unemployment, and time-wasting. An older woman stands on
her balcony. We try to convince her to sing for us. We learn that she is
Everyone’s having great time, a wonderful time in Čemerné.
the Ďuďa, precisely sixty-five year old Zuzana Zajacová. She comes
out. It takes a bit longer and a crowd forms around us. There is a man
among the crowd and I immediately know that he will sing and that his
singing will be worth listening to. He seems like a reincarnation of Béla from Žehra. His name is Eugen Tokár, called
Jenko, 39. We head into a flat in the block. Children dash in with us. A housewife declares, “Children are not allowed
to come in, but only elderly women.” Milka Danihelová, a lively woman, dressed completely in stripes, is here and
a young man with his wife and child, too. A good musician, the man advises others how to play and sing. I distribute
some decorations to children. They enjoy it.
They have a Polívka here. Not Bolek, but grey-haired Milka. Milka, the jolliest woman, singing a mourning
song, begins to cry. What atmosphere! What ambience! Grandmas dance, stepping in place. A nice voice echoed the
singing behind the door. We do not succeed in persuading it to come inside the room and closer to the microphone.
Two laughing teenage girls identify the soap opera king, Ivan–“Esteban” again. We can stay here a long time.
Wanting to go further, we have to change our plans due to it raining cats and dogs. The decision is...back to
the hotel.
W
De adadžives trinto džives,
sar na chaľom calo džives.
Jaj, de nane chava te pijava,
sar mre raťi khere avľa.
Today is the third day
I haven’t eaten the whole day.
Oh, I have nothing to eat or drink
when I get home in the evening.
Eugen Tokár, Čemerné 2002
E kapura pre ma phandľi,
šaj tu geles keci kames.
Raťi, ďives phirav,
šaj pal tute gondoľinav,
bo man dukhal miro jilo
pal tute, lubňije.
The gate is closed,
vain is your coming.
Evenings and days I walk
alas, thinking about you.
‘Cause my heart is aching,
yearning for you, unfaithful woman.
Oblakica andre phandľi,
šaj durkines keci kames.
Raťi, ďives pijav
a pal tute gondoľinav,
bo man dukhal miro jilo
pal tute lubňije.
The window is closed
vain is your knocking.
Evenings and days I drink
thinking about you,
‘cause my heart’s aching
yearning for you, unfaithful woman.
Eugen Tokár, Čemerné 2002
129
Naužar man,
bo tut imar na kamav,
bo man hin andre šukar piraňi.
Do not wait for me,
‘cause I want you no more,
‘cause a pretty girlfriend will come to see me.
Čemerné 2002
(Saturday, April 27, 2002, Čemerné)
MORE OF ZEMPLIN
ur crew splits up. Zuzana, Daňa and Ivan revert to their daily life. Jana and Ľuba continue researching for the
next two days.
We take a southern route to Pavlovce nad Uhom renown for the most excellent musician in all of Slovakia. A
blind singer named Koro is the most famous. His name is used in other modern bands, names such as the one from
Soľ–Soľnatakar Koro. However, the sweet Italian koro (as we call it) style is not what we are looking for. Since there
are more bands and among them a traditional group playing old songs in Pavlovce, we hope to hear old songs. In a
nice Romany neighbourhood we find an old violin player’s white house. Despite the fact that the family will be
leaving for a christening in the afternoon they welcome us, offering us coffee. We learn a lot about their musical past
and present. The sons have got their own band. They used to play with the legendary Koro, but later they separated.
They have many concerts in Bohemia. It is profitable but tiring. They wander all the time, play at night, sleep during
the day, and spend little time with their families. They had an accident recently. The car was completely demolished.
Luckily, they survived without any serious injuries. In a while, the sleepy, shattered sons sneak out the next room.
Catching up on last night sleep for playing at the wedding reception. They will play at the christening reception in
the afternoon.
Hearing their father’s promise that they will play for us they remind him of the contract with their editor. We
try to explain our interest in ancient songs rather than the modern ones in which their editor is interested. Our
version might not have been very convincing due to the missing violin player at the scheduled meeting.
Nevertheless, we waited for more than an hour. How naive we were...as if we have never heard such promises! Well,
we lost half of a day, even though we discovered a charming lake with water lilies behind Pavlovce.
A small, lonely house is built close to the lake and a talkative grandpa lives in it. Grandpa reveals that he is
Romany, too, and a musician, as well, but he hasn’t got a violin any more. He advises us to go to Drahnov–a singing
and musical village. The so-called Hungarian Romany, who speak a slightly different dialect, live there.
There are numerous roads and lanes in this flat part of Slovakia. Villages are connected in a variety of ways and
we have many choices to reach them. We get lost for a long time before we get to Drahnov.
Drahnov is a clean village, more modest than Pavlovce. Instead of huge mansions, people live in small,
drooping houses. They look like farmer’s houses with yards, too. A pretty, wicked-eyed, young mother heartily
welcomes us. She describes her performing, emceeing, and singing. We find out that she is the active granddaughter
of Michal Kaššo, the nice Romany and also very active teacher from Humenné Podskalka. Slovakia is indeed a small
country. In nearly every village we find someone who knows or is, at least, a relative of someone from another village.
Petra guides us to the local modern band. Their tools are exposed in the vacant, sun-bleached yard: synthesisers,
electrical guitars, and drums. And there is a huge amplifier in each of the four corners of the yard. When they play,
we can hardly hear each other. That is a genuine Sunday feast! The young dance, old women step traditional
Romany dances holding their grandchildren: others just observe the spectacle standing near the fence. To be polite
we record something. We depart without a chance to explain our search for ancient Romany songs instead of
modern Romany rock or pop which we quite liked, by the way.
Petra takes us to her husband’s granddad. He is a violin player. We do not have to beg him very long before he
starts. His wife also sings in a strange Romany dialect. We don’t understand her. His violin playing reminds us more
of Hungarian folk style than Romany. Granddad used to play in a folk chorus–non-Romany, at non-Romany
wedding receptions and at various parties in a region with many Hungarians living there. He plays perfectly. We give
him our last set of violin strings.
Before we get out of this complicated Zemplin region we reach the nuclear power station, take some field
lane–having no idea how we succeed in taking it–and find an old abandoned Jewish cemetery. We spend the night
in Prešov.
O
(Sunday, April 28, 2002, Pavlovce nad Uhom, Drahnov)
130
HERMANOVCE FULL OF CRADLES
ere we are again in the country I have visited many times before... in
the surroundings of Prešov. There are numerous camps. So far, I
haven’t been to all of them.
Two young social work students, Pavla and Iva, moved into
Hermanovce. They live in a caravan and take care of the Romany people,
especially the children. They prepare various activities for them: dancing,
drama, cooking. Right now they are cooking. A nice, spicy curry smell
eminates from the caravan. The boys cook today. Iva and Pavla praise the
boys as very skilled cooks. One of them gives up culinary joy and takes us
into the camp.
Hermanovce is a small camp hidden in the valley with a dirty brook
flowing through it. Tiny huts look picturesque in the summer. I do not
dare to think about how they appear in winter. We go to Kristína’s. Her
house is equal to one room, a bed takes half, a stove takes a quarter, and
Hermanovce is a small settlement, crouching in a valley
we and a growing crowd of spectators take the rest.
through which a dirty stream flows.
Kristína lies in the bed holding a small child in her arms. The
stove is hot due to the sick child, Kristína explains. I do not
understand the child’s need for such heat inside. Outside it is terribly hot–and we are in an overheated hut–just try
to imagine it!
The child is not Kristína’s, but her son’s. His wife ran away, so Kristína takes care of it. There is a canvas cradle
hanging above her. After a while she puts the child in the cradle and pulling a string she swings it. The guitar
player arrives with more singers; music runs fast. The child sleeps like an angel in the swinging cradle. Beautifully
curved, supported by her hand, Kristina lies under the duvet pulling the string. Someone boils pasta on the heated
stove.
H
Čuchin kade, bo kade man dukhal.
Bo sar na čuchines, jaj,
ozdaj the merava.
Kade, mamo, dukhal kade, dukhal,
bo me bari nasvaľi som.
Rub here ‘cause that’s the spot which hurts me.
Because if you don’t rub
I may even die.
Here, mama, it hurts, here it hurts,
‘cause I am very sick.
Vičhin le doktoris,
čuchin, bo bares dukhal,
bo sar na čuchines,
te merel mušinav.
Call the doctor.
Rub because it hurts very much.
‘Cause if you don’t rub
I will have to die.
Kristína Kalejová, Hermanovce 2002
De lubňi sal, lubňi sal,
bo chaľal, joj, svetos
Jaj, de bo chaľal, joj, svetos
le buter čhavenge.
Unfaithful you are, unfaithful,
alas, you consumed my world
(you destroyed my life).
Alas, you consumed my world
and the world of my children.
Kristína Kalejová, Hermanovce 2002
Tire jakha pre mande, jaj,
ča dikhena.
Jaj, de miro jilo dava
de mira romňorake.
Kristína Kalejová, Hermanovce 2002
131
Your eyes, alas, at me,
will just looking.
Alas, but my heart will I give
only to my dear wife.
We hear some noise outside. An orange-haired grandma
cries that boys threw a stone at her head. I take a look at her
hair. I find no injury. The grandma strokes my hands and
repeats her desire to give me candies if she had the money to
buy it. I replied that if I had known about such a nice
grandma I would have brought her some candies, too. Poor,
little, foolish grandma she was.
Her handsome husband was busy all of the time. He
unloaded wood for heating from the wooden wagon. I took
a picture of him: wearing a filthy fur hat reminded me of a
Chechnyan a little. He invited me into his house that is
adjacent to Kristína’s. There was a single room inside...also,
a proud owner’s collection of about ten broken TV sets. What
Kristína is said to have experienced the revelation of the
a nice pile!
Virgin Mary.
I praised the collection and left to visit the other houses.
They looked the same. A room with a canvas cradle hanging
from the ceiling and a baby in it. Women cook and pull strings to swing their babies; it is very similar to a scene
from a typical ancient Slovak village.
Slowly we have to finish in order to keep our promise to attend a dancing group’s rehearsal at Pavla and Iva’s.
Accompanied by a flock of children we reach the community centre. Girls dance for us. We learn a story of the Virgin
Mary revealed in Kristína’s house. I remember a tiny altar above her bed. I had to take my shoes off and step on her
bed to be able to photograph it. Without any movement, Kristína did not mind at all.
Well, our time has passed and we have to leave despite our desire to stay. An old man who tells Romany stories
for adults instead of for children supposedly lives in the village. We must come back to Hermanovce. We hope to
find that old man alive. Only old people transfer traditional Romany cultural values. Who knows what will happen
after these old people die out? Will those values fade away? And what will the Romany people have then instead of
them?
(Monday, April 29, 2002, Hermanovce)
132
Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ
PRO DURALO KHAMESKRI
AVRIPEN
O LON AMEN ČHINGERELAS ANDRO JAKHA
gav Rudlov, andre leste osada nane, andro varesave khera bešen Roma. Rudlovoste bešel la Jankakri amal, džaha
ke late, vakeras, oj amen lidžala ki o jekh Roma u on ki o aver.E phuri bibi bešel pre lavkica u lakro rom o Michal
Čikala le džamutreha thoven pal e vlečka tele o kašta pre dvora. O džamutro vakerel čechika, hino inteligentno, šaj the
angažimen, pal savoreste tele sido, hoj les hin khere adresi savore themutne jekhetaňibnaskren, phučel amendar savo sam
jekhetaňiben amen, he, he, oda leske vareso vakerel, san adaj mande. Pal e dvora peske prastal o čhavoro dukhade
jakhenca. E phuri daj na giľavela, hin la vareso le kirleha, the paňori pro chelavipen la hin. Andre dvora hin duj khera,
andro jekh bešen o phure – odoj hin ča kuchňa, andro aver hin ča o sobi, bi e kuchňa. Andre odi amen vičinen, hin odoj
sikra na poradkos. Te giľavel džal o papus u lel kija peste le vnukos. Buter vakererl sar giľavel. „Amare dada vaš o
phuvale, the vaš o maro le chulajenge sogaľinenas.“ O kher peske cinīdas, baron leske o kašta, hin les kachňa, the balo.
Sar ochtoberšengro chudňas te phirel le guruvňenca pro riti, te genel the te skirinel na sikľiľas, na sas kana, but phirďas
– prindžarel o svetos: „Vareko, ko pal e luma na phirďas, zijan hoj džanel te skirinel.“ O kakus nane bikivel hoj na džanel
te genel. Le Romenge šaj šigitinelas, te džanenas te chulajinel, kaj ča hin len peskro šero, gondoľinel o kakus. Le papus
hin šov čhave, khuvenas o košara, the o šulade. Sar muraris kerelas buťi pro Čechi, kaj opre kerenas o zamki, o majstros
(sas Čaklovostar) ča phenďas, so kamen te kerel a o kakus imar majstrinelas vaš leske u o čačikano majstros šaj džalas pal
peskro. O dad sas šustros. O kakus sas andro buťakro taboris. „Te sthoves love, hin tut na sthoves, akor tut love nane. O
Roma andro mašini o love čhivkeren“ (gambleri). Prekal o dujto lumakro mariben, sar les ile ki o slugaďa, le Romen avri
ile u kerde lendar buťakri čata, pro uniformi len sas kavejika manžeti, kalo gaľiris, u sar imar o buťa dokerde, akor džanas
andro plinos. Andro Petičis sas buťakro taboris kerenas Hanušovcate, andre Čierna nad Topľou, marenas len sar
nabirinenas te kerel, chanas fizola, chirchiľ, the kalo maro.Le kakuskro vnukos anďas o šlabikaris, genel pro angušta dži
saranda, ela leske 7 berš, genel amenge andal o šlabikaris. Pijas mol, so o kakus la fameľijaha dokerďas. Lačhi. Pro fali
hin maj lačho šukariben. O kakus sikra giľavel, aľe ki o „romano roviben“ savo džanen savore Roma u giľaven les amenge
kaj avas, dothoven o lava so dži akana len na šunďam. Hoj ola lava hine andal o taboris, andal o mariben.
Rudlovostar džas peskre pindrenca andre osada so pes vičinel Lon – Soľ. Phiras pašal o khera sar o Jehovisti u
sakovar vakeras ipen oda, adaj hine phure manuša, no na kamen te giľavel, o kirle len dukhan, hin len pharipen, sakovar
phenen hoj andro pašo kher amenge giľavena, ča kaj pes amenca šukares te rozdžan. Adaj pes vakerel romanes. Bare uče
khera, o čhave pre uľica khelen varesavo čudašno bavipen, so mange nane pre kedva: ki o kočijakre telune trasta phandle
rikonen, sar ki o sanki, o rikone hine avri darade. Savore amenge vakeren, kaj te džas pal o kore lavutara, hoj on džanen.
Savoro sikavel pro oda, hoj oda hine profesijonala, vaj hoj džal pal o sunta giľavne. Andre Ďuďovsko fameľija prastan
varesave nalačhe geni, so nasvaľaren o jakha the e goďi. Andro jekhto kher arakhľam le kore šefos lavutengra grupakro
andal o gav Lon –Soľ, Koro II., na giľaven oda so amen kamas, pro peskero CD (Paťas le Devles) len hinkhangerakre
giľa, the so korkore sthode, the prekerdo la Vondračkakro hitocis.
Vaj keci khera teleder bešen aver Ďuďovci, no the odoj hin varesavo nalačho genos andro duj čhavore – na, imar
bare. E Martina Ďuďova hiňi kori, nabari, bangi. Giľavel amenge šukar loke hangocika giľi so sthodejekhetane le
phraleha. Oda čačes nane phuri giľi. Lakri daj amenge thovel te chal kaľi kaveja the makoskri bokeľi. Hin lake but
phares. O dad hino Andal peste. O dad hino but lošano, but vakerel, kamel te pijel, čhivkerel e mol. E Martina peske
paš o giľavipen, aňi pes te paťal na kamel, le sane anguštorenca ľivinel. But asal sar e džuvľi andal o sikra daravutno
filmos. Nane la aňi sikra romano hangos. „Tumen kamľan te dikhel the mire čhas,“ phenel čačikanes e daj. Šaj hin adaj
normalno, hoj pre Martina the pro lakro phral phiren te dikhel. No faktos hin, hoj na diťhon avri mište. Aňi e Martina,
aňi o Ferkus, savo hino koro, o jakha les hin opre visarde, naphirel aňi avka sar e Martina, hino pro verdoro. Paš o
giľavipen čalavel le anguštenca avka sar the e phen. The igisno pes čalavel. Ajso automatikano čalavipen. Le Ferkus hin
lačho šero. Pherasuno. Savi diferencija andre leskri fizikalno the voďakri harmonija! Hino adaj the lengro phral, fešakos,
sa sar kampel, leskri šukar khabňi romňi, the e cikňi čhajori sakovar musaj te avel varekaske pro khoča, vaj pro vasta.
Aven the džan varesave manuša te dikhel, so pes kerel, no nane oda ňisavi masovka, ispidipen, sar sakovar predžidžiľam
pre Spiša. Jekh terno čhavo peske leperel, kaj la Daňaha pes arakhľas jesoste Sviňate. O Ferkus o cirdle giľa na vičinel
halgató, aľe halgatoni, vaj mulačagi. O Ferkus prindžarel the purane giľa, the trušale, no paš lende ov nane trušalo. Adaj
pes dikhel oda baro averipen, kaj kana o phuro manuš giľavel e trušaľi giľi - u korkoro hino paš oda trušalo, vaj te giľavel
o terno – u bikivelones peske kerel pheras, te pes kerel vareso pherasutno. O Martines sakovar cirdel ki o moderna giľa,
so peske the korkore kerde. O Ferkus peske leperel pro phureder. Ov phirel te giľavel pal o bali, the Prahate sas,
vakerenas pal leste sar pal o čardašiko kraľis. Hin leske 27 berš.
O
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Pre raťate avľam pale Rudlovoste. Andro kher so sas maj pro agor gaveske. Tosarastar amenge kampľas te giľavel o
Jančis saves dovakerďas la Jankakri amaľin. No sa pes o maro phagel, o Jančis musaj te džal la dake te čhingerel kašta.
Aľe mukhen amen ki e Jančiskri phen, e Helena Ferencova. Ipen peske andro rumankos andro lavoris cinďarel
dijabeticka phindre. Pre chodba hiňi maľimen e fala. Hin len adaj the vodovodos, aľe o paňi lestar hino farebno,
trastuno, na pijen les, phiren ki e chaňig, latar taven u thoven pen andal, pijen la sar medecina. E bibi vakerel pal e
fameľija. „Hin man čhaj the bori u hine sar jekh u jekh.“ Adikh užaras, hoj pes ki e late vareko andal e fameľija dela, na
kamel pes lake te giľavel korkorake, vakerel vareso pal peste, sar kerelas andro kaštengro zavodos, čhingerenas odoj o
phindre pro valendi the skamindora, jekhvar lakra amaľinake o majstros diňas ačko (absencija), th te la sasa
ospravedlnenka, oda hoj vaš oda hoj sas „romane“, cinde peske mol u pijenas, imar oda ďives na kerenas, u pal e moľori
the giľavenas u o majstros sar len šunďas te giľavel, rovelas, avka rovelas, hoj lenge oda ačko odmukhľas. E bibi vičinel
pre čhaj vaj pre bori pro opruno štokos, kaj te avel laha te giľavel, opral pes del anglal, kaj našťi te giľavel, bo la hin dukh.
Andre bibi avľas choľi, savi dukh, pal oda oj vareso kamelas te džanel, te vareko pašo andre fameľija muľahas. Pro agor
e bibi chudňas te giľavel u maj te rovel, „som rovľarďi“, phenelas, e giľi lake leperel lakro dživipen „but rosno vacht
predžidžiľam“. Hino adaj th’o bibakro rom, na giľavel, mište jekhetane avri džan. Andre fameľija hin the čhavoro so les
sas ajse albiňika hulamošna bala, kike jakha. E bibi pal peskre čhavende vakerel: „Mire čhave džnen pes te kerel, hine
frajera.“
(paraštuvine, 26.4.2002, Rudlov, Soľ)
134
Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ
SPIŠ AND ONCE MORE SPIŠ
UNUSUAL RESERVE
tend to consider it quite normal. Hardly a month has passed and here we (Janka, Daňa, Belo and me) are back again
at research. Again, I have a chance to wander through Romany camps and participate in searching for and recording
old Gypsy songs.
We stay in the beautiful town of Levoča and an obsolete, poorly maintained hotel close to the centre. We can hear
the grating voice of a travelling saleswoman inhabiting the adjacent room. From the whole morning the next day she will
stridently try to persuade retired people, who mainly come due to the free snacks, to have their new roof made by new
technology and of a new type of roof tiles. All for the price of only... At dusk, cigarette smoke rising from the hotel
restaurant and sneaking up the staircase fills the whole building. In spite of all of this, we do not mind and do not miss
anything. Except a camp visit. Let’s do it then.
Spišské Tomášovce is close to renowned Letanovce when considering the distance, but not in character. We selected
them due to Janka’s tip: Zdenko Pecha. The village has the usual appearance; the Romany section–very decent–is visibly
separated. There are brick houses, many of them quite large.
Zdenko, a young man studying social work in his fourth year at Spišská Nová Ves, is very friendly. He seems to be
an honoured person in the camp. First, he takes us to his grandmother, Margita Gabčová, seventy-two years old. She is
willing to sing, but forgets all the songs. Nevertheless, she remembers entertaining and wedding customs. She describes
two or three days of singing, then four girls take four corners of a duvet and singing they walk with musicians following
them around the whole village before they presented the duvet to the bride. The wedding lasted the whole day and night.
Afterwards, they put together leftovers and they ate and drank again until the last bite was gone.
Zdenko tries to put together a few younger musicians. We wait for the result outside on the street and try to make
the people assembled around us sing. It looks like we nearly have a singer when a man from the opposite house with
balustrades, obviously the richest in the village, aggressively attacks us. His wife tries to calm him down. Unsuccessfully.
I want to pacify him by answering his questions such as who pays us and why we do not collect Slovak folk but Gypsy
songs. I explain that we are not engaged in the shady scheme of the water purifier for the Romany part. According to
him, the state covered 80 percent of the price. As they haven’t seen a single crown the Romany are sure that whites used
the money to build their houses. Slowly, he controls his anger. He asks us to speak positively about the Romany people.
“I am 28 years old and I always keep myself busy,” the man says. He has got a construction company. Finally, he seems
to listen to our arguments that our work kind of makes sense. He accepts it provided it will not hurt him even if it will
not help him personally or immediately. He is the most satisfied after we take pictures of his house.
There are few dogs in Spišské Tomášovce. A playful puppy enjoys us. Numerous cats are here. A slightly drunken
woman carries leftovers for her pig. She shouts at us that we surely came on the behalf of some foundation to deprive
them instead of bringing something.
At last we are invited inside, only into the hallway under the staircase of the house. This time we approach cold
hosts. On the other hand, it is good for us. We have been too spoiled. Two men sing–Štefan and Roman–arm in arm.
František Pecha plays the accordion; Andrea plays the guitar. The Pechas. The whole camp consists of Pechas and
Gabčos, only a few Gábors are there. The girl is very helpful. The boys remain quite distant. They sing a couple of songs.
We cannot complain. We do not get old pieces. Then the audience is over. We listen to another accusation of wasting
Romany money. Do we waste it? We probably do not. Though they have other experiences. Well, it appears that the
more wealth we see, the less friendship we find. An old grandma lives in the house. Her blood pressure is high. She is
deaf. Despite that she wishes to chat with us. She shouts, lisps, and has got no teeth.
“If father-in-law were at home...” But he is not, so he can’t sing nor play the violin. The youth shows us three violins
hanging on the wall.
We are finished here. Zdenko invites us for coffee at his place. The big house looks smaller inside. The parents live
with their two sons and their families. Zdenko established a public association, Stanley Klub. They do various activities,
for example lectures on sexual education. They remodeled a schoolyard. Zdenko is different from the others, cultivated.
He has got a computer, Internet. He writes poems. A few were published in magazines. The majority of them come from
the period when he dated his present wife. He writes in Romany, but prefers Slovak, as it is richer in words. The poems
are very sweet and naively positive.
We see an original painting in this household (better...a repainting, very fashionable in art society nowadays). It
represents the Holy family-pastel colours and a childish style. The painting used to look different but has gotten dirty.
A landlady washed it and the colours came off. Zdenko’s mother then repainted it.
I
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People have troublesome postal service in Spišské Tomášovce. The post carrier does not want to deliver their post
to the camp. Locals have to ask for their mail in the white part of the village. If they receive certified mail they cannot
pick it up at the local post office, but the one in Spišský Štvrtok. Zdenko’s mother used to work in a nearby chemical
factory. Her work was clean. She cut cellophane for candies. Now she suffers from health problems. Many
neighbourhood factories have closed down over the past ten years. Despite the hospitality we receive in this house,
Zdenko’s father reproaches us. According to him we waste finances that they would put to better use.
A bit strange, the village of Spišské Tomášovce is. I will not miss it. They will not miss us.
(Friday, May 24, 2002, Spišské Tomášovce)
A DUTCH MAN AMONGST THE ROMANY
aturday surprises us with numerous experiences. We begin in Spišský Hrhov. A steep street, the upper end curves
and spreads into lanes, creating a Romany camp. Liberators Street, that is a beautiful name. (Slightly ironic
postscript: How wonderful it would be if they were able to liberate us–whites–from prejudice. More ironic postscript:
The name of this street is real proof of the absolutely liberated soul of communist leaders.) There is a nice church in
Hrhov–at least its exterior. It has a white German tower and roof. The educational institute for youth is located in a
dilapidated manor house. Romany brick houses are big. The ground is soaked with rainwater. A few days later, the radio
announces that the rain had caused great damage in the camp. Water flows down the street of Liberators.
Nobody sang to us in Spišsky Hrhov. There was no will.
A young woman praises her father skill as a wood engraver.
“And what does he engrave?” we are interested.
“Everything.”
We go to snoop around to see if somebody can croon for us.
A goat grazes in the meadows. A charming picture. We find no
singers there.
We desire to please our eyes since our ears remain neglected.
We go back to the wood engraver to ask him to show us his
artwork. The daughter runs to fetch an unsophisticated, bright,
relief of Jesus Christ with a thorn crown. She dusts and brushes
the spider webs from it.
“Has your father got more engravings?”
“Yes, another one.”
When Dana is finished with her singing, she listens to
We stop in Spišské Podhradie to feast our eyes for a while.
what has been recorded with headphones on.
We talk to a retired priest, elderly Mr. Bernard. His old mind is
not quite clear. Uncle Bernard is very chatty. Learning about our
research he bids us to speak to the Slovak ice-hockey
representative, Mr. Laššák, the recent world champion and probably a Christian, who is wealthy and sympathetic enough
to support an old priest. Mr. Bernard used to lend money naively–one hundred thousand crowns in total–to Gypsies. He
trusted their promises to pay him back.
Betlanovce. We approach the village over a little bridge. There are smaller brick houses along with those made of
timber or combined material in the camp. It looks poorer and more like the Spiš-style than it did in Hrhov. We speak to
old women for a while. They look magnificent and my camera fails to work properly–what a shame at this moment!
Women send us into a house. Somebody leads us there, taking the small lanes between scattered houses.
We reach the house of Dana Tiserová. After hearing about our song collecting, her eyes glimmer. At first sight it is
clear that she is a singer. It would have ended up differently save Dana’s feeling that she is obliged to take us to her
mother-in-law’s house. We sit down there. Her husband interrupts us and declares that there will be no singing without
payment. No more than three songs. We try to solve the situation by offering to buy some spirits for them. That doesn’t
help. The women want to bring the guitar and Daňa will sing. The man insists that they do not have an acoustic guitar,
but electrical. This is not true. Acoustic guitar sounds reach us from somewhere outside. Finally, the singer is supported
by the tones of an unplugged electrical guitar. We listen to the combined wire tones. The woman sings beautifully. She
will add more and more songs. Her husband and mother-in-law want to save for themselves the same thing that we also
intend to save–old Romany songs. Interesting discrepancy.
The oldest adult singer’s daughter has got a child of the same age as her mother’s youngest offspring. A three year
old aunt and a three year old niece. Dana, the singer, gave birth to her daughter as a very young girl. Not able to take
care of her she put her into an orphanage. It was not an easy decision, she says. One can nearly believe her. One would
likely believe her, if not for her daughter’s mention of her brother who was in the orphanage as well and may still be.
His mother does not mention him at all. When her oldest daughter was eighteen she had to leave the asylum and with
no place to go, she came back to her mother’s. Her mother had no choice other than to accept her. I believe that it was
fate that made the woman give up her child at beginning of her narrative. Later, it seems that the children are her life’s
encumbrance. The daughter shows off her knowledge of prayers. During her stay in the orphanage she performed at a
concert in Bratislava.
S
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After the singer finishes she listens to our recording through
headphones. She likes it a lot. She smiles, laughs aloud. Others wish to
listen to it, as well. Headphones wander from one to another. Faces light
up. The oldest singer’s daughter asks for headphones. Her mother never
gives them to her, but to the mother-in-law, husband, guitar player, and
neighbours. Not to her daughter who is begging for them. Mother
bypasses her each time. I cannot watch this. When the singer gives me
back the headphones I say that her daughter has not heard it yet. The
daughter’s face shines as she listens to her mother’s singing.
This story confuses me considerably. At home, I have got an adopted
Romany child taken from an orphanage and neglected by its parents.
We run away, escape from Betlanovce. Nobody follows us. It rains
heavily. We reach our car completely soaked.
Anna and her husband are the first ones to be talked into it.
Waiting for blue sky, we listen to what Daňa dreamt about: two halfnaked, old Gypsy women came to her saying, “Here you have your songs.
Here you have your photos.”
Dlhé Stráže comes next. A camp–well visible from the main road–is up the hill above the village. We park our car
next to the last house. We see real poverty again, huts–metal plated, mess, smell even. I recall Jareček, Bystrany...
Wooden outhouses line the narrow side path going over the grassy hill. A tiny old woman–angelic in appearance, smile
and sight included–sits in front of the house. We ask if somebody can sing for us. It seems nobody will sing. If someone
will sing, then only in exchange for money. We have no money. Women are more likely to listen to our arguments,
requests, and explanations. We hang about the penultimate house. We hear a few enemy remarks. An old man–called
‘The Dutch Man’ (Ján Polák)-shouts at us from his hut: He will not sing, despite that others say he can. He sends us
away. First, we succeed in convincing a middle-aged woman–Anna Žigová, a mother of ten children. She wears a floral
print apron and a scarf on her head. Her moves and facial gestures remind me of my friend, Lucia. Anna sings nicely, as
well as her son, who is about twelve. His mother pushes him in front of the microphone. Because of him she begins to
sing. The son sings less expressively than his mother. A crowd of onlookers–few of them sing-stands around. The
atmosphere improves in our favour. Before we have people completely on our side, ‘The Dutch Man’s’ wife (Anna
Poláková), a fat, barefoot woman gets involved, too. She wears schoolgirl plaits. They bring her the only chair from the
house. She says she will sing for fifty crowns to be able to buy milk. Later, she lowers her price to twenty. The whole deal
appears very unpleasant... ‘The Dutch Man’ makes jokes of us. Holding two sticks he pretends to play the violin. He is
very noisy and attracts attention. In the end he sings. Both Annas; her husband, Anton; her son, Maroš; and also ‘The
Dutch Man’ (leaving his house, he steps in his socks in the mud; it rains constantly); the plaited beauty–her hair is
unfastened now-sings, as well as a man imprisoned in the past. A young woman dressed in a yellow T-shirt manages to
warm up the crowd though she does not sing. Each time we rest, she encourages us to continue. She has got couple of
children. We give her a bag of children’s clothes later. At least it is a little reward for her efforts. It rains heavily. We stand
out in the rain. We protect our camera and recorder under the umbrella. We cannot stay like this any longer. It pours.
Either they take us inside or we must leave. They invite us–luckily, thanks for it–into ‘The Dutch Man’s’ house. It is
overcrowded. A single light bulb poorly lights up the room. We can hear television sounds from behind the closed door.
A cat meows. The roof leaks in two places. They put pots beneath the holes. Many children. Despite the adults sending
them out they are back in a moment. My broken camera, sounding like an automatic gun, makes a little girl cry. Another
child has a practical reason for the hole in the crotch of its
trousers. The ex-convict does not want to recall his past, or to
sing. He used to sing in prison a lot during the eighteen months.
Later, the atmosphere melts his coldness and he croons Romany
and lock-up songs, as well. Anton looks into Dana’s blue eyes.
He sings a Romany song, smiling mischievously. Others grin, we
recognise words about a photographer. We see he makes up the
words, using his imagination he improvises very well. We
exposed him and laugh together. After Janka translates the
words of the song, our value increases. They suppose we all
understand Romany.
The Dutch Man makes fun of us, pretending to play a violin
with two sticks.
139
Oda kalo čirikloro piskinel,
joj a miri daj andro hadžos stukinel.
Dža ča, phrala, dža ča, phrala, te dikhel,
bo imar mri daj, bo imar mri daj stukinel.
joj, te merel, te merel, joj, mušinel.
The black bird is whistling,
oh, and my mother, in bed, is sighing.
Go, brother, go, brother, to have a look
‘cause my mother, ‘cause my mother’s sighing.
Alas, die, alas, die she must.
Jaj, mardžas man dukhadžas man mro šero,
de mardžas dukhadžas man mro šero.
De ča pheňe, dža ča an khosnoro
jaj, te khosava mre ratestar mro šero.
Alas, he beat me, hurt my head,
beat me, hurt my head.
Go just, sister, go just to fetch a scarf
alas, so that I’ll wipe up the blood from my head.
Anna Poláková, Dlhé Stráže 2002
Hej, de biela ruža a kytica,
povedzte mi pravdu,
hej, či ma moja milá ľúbi
a či sa mi smeje.
Jaj, de povedzte jej,
že moje srdce tajne vykrvacia,
že ani slovka nezatají,
stále po nej túžim.
Hey, a white rose and a bouquette,
tell me the truth,
hey, whether my girl loves me
or if she’s laughing at me?
Alas, tell her,
that my heart will quietly bleed to death,
that it will not conceal a word.
I’m still longing for her.
Hej, de počula som, že jedna deva
chodí do kostola.
Hej, kľaknem si ja pred oltárom,
pýtam Pána Boha,
že ja na tú svadbu pôjdem
v čiernom oblečení.
Hey, I heard that the girl
goes to church.
Hey, I will kneel in front of the altar
asking the Lord
that I will go to that wedding
in a black outfit.
Hej, choď hore na cintorín,
pomodli sa.
Kľakni si ty za môj kríž,
všetko ti odpustím...
Hey, go uphill to the cemetery,
say a prayer.
Kneel behind my cross,
I’ll forgive you everything...
Žigo, Dlhé Stráže 2002
Sadly, we must leave. We want to stay longer, but time flies too quickly.
The next camp in the row has a mystical name, Dravce. Anton recommended it to us. His brother, Gejza, lives there.
The Romany from Dravce live in a few houses at the end of the village. Gejza’s house is the nicest. People have better
lives here than in Dlhé Stráže. Gejza only sings with an accordion that is broken at the moment. Thus, Gejza will not
sing. He just came back from work. He is a bricklayer and belongs to a group run by a white foreman from the village.
He sends us to a wedding in Bukovinka, a nearby village. His relative’s daughter is getting married. Gejza cannot go
with us. It will take a long time until he is ready. Arriving late at a wedding is very impolite. Better not to go at all. He
did not know he would have to work on Saturday. If the foreman calls he cannot refuse. He tries to find a guide for us.
Finally, we set out alone.
Bukovinka and a wedding sound promising. It begins to rain heavily. Since we haven’t found any decent roads we
will only be able to reach Bukovinka by sliding in the mud. It will be extremely rude if we arrive at the wedding
completely soaked, covered with mud and ask to record songs. Besides, a popular band from Žehra–modernists–will play
at the ceremony. We have already experienced them.
Sky and clouds show us their darkest side on our way back to Levoča.
An attempt to ruminate for a short while at the end of the day: we have never experienced such poverty and real
misery in so many Gypsy families. Emotions roll over us. In order to manage it, we have to stay reserved or indifferent
somehow... Maybe it is similar to the relationship between the doctor and a patient. The end. The end of the day.
(Saturday, May 26, Spišský Hrhov, Spišské Podhradie, Betlanovce, Dlhé Stráže, Dravce)
142
NEGATIVE, POSITIVE
oporec. We take two girls who were walking into our car to lead us to a camp, called the colony of Lengrup, up on
the hill and hardly visible from the white village. Houses are rich and poor, too. Some of them have a neatly fenced
front yard with a cross for praying out under the sky. This is an unusual motif that we have not seen during our
wanderings. We do not find anyone who will sing for us. Everyone says there is a famous musician, Adolf Pompa, living
down in the village.
We go there. Protection from rain, a warm welcome and refreshments are served. Grandfather Adolf with his wife,
his granddaughter with her husband and their child are in. Adolf is more than seventy. His age is quite obvious. Younger
relatives secretly make fun of him. Adolf is an absolute master, declaring, “The others are assholes.” He shows us his
afflicted finger. He cannot stretch it and, therefore, cannot play, although he used to be a great violin player. In short,
he was the best violin player and the others are assholes. The surgeon who operated on his finger was more of a
lumberjack and an asshole, too. “We have a good priest, I like him so much I would put him in my heart.” Adolf doesn’t
stop. “Markovič’s violin player is a bungler. He has got a university degree in music and what? Whoever sings and plays
at the same time is a complete asshole who does not understand music. And people, assholes, clap for these assholes until
they have calluses two cents thick on their palms. Gejza Dusík, he was a master. I do not play any halgato; that is for
assholes without notes or eighth knowledge... I would never play it. There were 300 folk bands here before the fortyeighth year, then Gottwald came, a communist, and a bandit, saying, ‘Whoever is not part of the organisation can leave.’
So I left and did not become a member of the Party. I was not allowed to play for a period of time. Then I played in
Paris, in the amphitheatre for a million spectators... They showed looms there... fireworks. Doctors used to carry our
cimbalom. They clapped and clapped. We did not know they were doctors. We learned that only at the reception. De
Gaulle was present at the gala concert, too.” Adolf is angry that all of Slovakia talks about the ice-hockey world
championship and that there are bad people from bad families here. “Mečiar, that bandit and murderer, started this
decay. They did not give a damn about the poor and sick Gypsies. Those Slovaks who caused this injustice will not be
redeemed.” That is enough. We are interested in his narrative about kálmešter–a master who came from Budapest to
Košice to teach selected students to play violin. Adolf’s kálmešter’s name was Rigo Béla.
We are glad it has stopped raining. We can move on.
Veľká Lomnica at a distance of 9 kilometres from Tatranská Lomnica comes next. We got a tip to see the director of
the folk choir. We find ‘only’ his brother. We catch him at work. He shows us the way into the colony. We stop our car
at the beginning of the camp near a house that is half built. Well, a mansion really, not yet plastered, but well guarded.
On the large, first floor terrace without a railing there are two dogs, one big and one small alastation, who immediately
bark furiously at us. Lucky for us, they are scared to jump down and can’t reach us inside all the way through the house.
In a moment, people, especially children, circle around us. We explain that we are looking for the musician, Jan
Polhoš. We find out he is the Romany mayor. He is not in at the moment, somebody says; others disagree saying he is
in. The crowd around us grows bigger. Elderly women, apparently the friendliest of all, are ready to sing. It starts raining.
We ask to be let into some house, into a hallway, at least, before beginning recording in order to protect the equipment
from the rain and the wind. Nobody is willing to invite us in; they are ashamed of their dwellings. We try to convince
them that we have seen various households. Even ours are not always perfectly clean and tidy... A young man dressed in
a yellow sweater abuses this intermezzo just as many people with many ideas are trying to coordinate the matter mostly
in our favor. Rudely inquiring, he asks, “And what about the reward?” At first we ignore his questions, but later he is
more pushy and others join him. They become furious. The atmosphere is very bad. They shout at us and say that
afterwards we will sell the recorded tapes for a profit from which
they will not get any share. A granny, a relative of the yellowsweater-man, blusters. We are better off leaving. Our nice faces
are too precious to us. A woman dressed in blue–Doda–says that
nobody will tell her what to do–to sing or not to sing. Obviously,
Doda is an authority in this community. We agree to come back
the next day after they have calmed down. The kindergarten will
be open and we can stay there. We leave. Children in a bad
mood escort us. Well, we have gained various experiences.
T
(Sunday, May 26, 2002, Toporec, Veľká Lomnica)
Women are not asking for money although they are
going to sing.
143
VEĽKÁ LOMNICA IS BIG
ack to Veľká Lomnica. Mud is everywhere after yesterday’s rain. The men ask for money and do not sing. The
women do not ask for money and want to sing, three elderly women (Doda Polhošová, Mária Horváthová and
Terézia Polhošová) and three Romany boys to guard them. A white teacher lets us inside the tin barrack. We enter a room
that serves as a gym. Many children try to get in, but it is locked. There are lessons in the adjacent classroom. A teacher
is not very happy with her pupils. However, she accepts the situation as it
is, without becoming bitter. I hope she will stay sweet. Daňa, a very
courageous girl, is out and taking pictures. We learn that yesterday was
not the best day for a visit due to the period of social allowance. They
receive it one by one in alphabetical order. Spirits participated in creating
the bad ambiance of the previous day, the teacher says.
Women sing, behaving like rivals. We have experienced a similar
relationship in Vechec. Doda is a very energetic woman. She would be
able to produce electricity and light up. Mária used to attend school in
Ostrava and learned Hungarian. Since she had a good teacher, she knew
a lot and was able to be a shop assistant in Bohemia. Mária is literate; she
can send a telegram. Later, her family moved to Slovakia. Since then she
has worked as auxiliary personnel. Doda interrupts her. She has sung
song after song in the morning. Now, she hardly recalls any. Sometimes
she eats an egg to clear her voice.
Everything has become muddy in Veľká Lomnica after
yesterday’s rain.
It was worth it to travel back for songs.
B
Devla, Devla, so me kerdžom,
veradunes romes mukhľom.
Ča les mange te dinehas,
ča les mange te phaglehas.
God, God, what did I do?
I left my own husband.
As soon as they’ll give him to me,
I hope they won’t break him.
Daje miri, so kerava,
de hoj man ňiko, Devla, nane?
Jaj, de so me Devla, jaj, kerava
Daj da jaj..... jaja.
Mother mine, what will I do
when I, God, have no one?
Alas, what will I, God, do?
Dai dayai... yaiya.
Mamo, mamo, so kerava,
te man ňiko de na avela.
Joj, de ajaj dajajjaj...
Dajaj jaj...
Mommy, mommy, what will I do
when I will have no one?
Yoi, de aiyai daiyaiyai...
Daiyai yai...
Phagle mange mri musori,
de av ča miro piranoro.
De ča la mange te phaglena,
de ča les mange te dinehas.
They broke my arm
because of my boyfriend.
Even if they break it,
if only they give him to me.
Doda Polhošová, Veľká Lomnica 2002
Hej, tel oda muro Rom,
de chudľas man te čorel.
De kaj me man thovava
mre čore čhavenca?
Hey, my husband,
he left me destitute.
Where will I go
with my poor children?
De mamo, miri mamo,
so, čori, kerava?
Ej, di kaj me man thovava
mre čore čhavenca?
Mommy, my mommy,
poor me, what will I do?
Oh, where will I go
with my poor children?
Doda Polhošová, Veľká Lomnica 2002
144
The youth invite us to a choir rehearsal at the Kentucky bar. They can
also sing old songs. Old women sing outside and the young learn from
them.
We pass the camp. The mayor welcomes us. They are good to us
today. Plenty of mud, disgusting, patched huts, unbelievable poverty.
Two blocks of flats at the beginning of the colony offer better living: there
are toilets and water in pipes. We wobble up the ‘path’. I photograph
extensively. Naked children. Dirt. A few dogs. A woman in a shockingly
bright red nightgown. I want to take a picture only of her. It is absolutely
impossible. The mayor speaks about the community policy. He shows us
plans for the construction of new houses for the Romany.
A busy road lines one side of the camp. In this season, mostly lorries
drive on it very fast and irresponsibly despite the 40 kilometres per hour
speed limit. Vehicles fly by the camp in order to have those dammed
Doda is energetic; she could produce electricity
Gypsies in their rearview mirror as soon as possible.
and use it for illumination.
We spend the late afternoon at a rehearsal of the folk choir, Ľoľi
rokľica. A white children’s choir is lead by a wise director. He has a
Romany boy in his ensemble. They have agreed upon a rehearsal opportunity for the children from the colony, as well.
The manager has given them a room in the community centre and instruments. The musicians (Gusto Gábor–violin,
Stano Lacko–contrabass, Dušan Lacko–guitar, Ernest Polhoš–accordion) are marvellous. The dancers: nothing special.
Specifically, a boy, Stano Čonka, sings beautifully. The director prefers a pretty girl with an airy voice. The singer, Stano,
is annoyed. He knows his qualities. Life is cruel towards individuals. Life is cruel towards whole groups.
(Monday, May 27, 2002, Veľká Lomnica)
VALÉRIA AND FLIES
his day appears to be very disjointed. We stop in Janovce, which looks better than Veľká Lomnica, but is still poor.
It spreads up the hill. We talk to the Romany mayor, Aladár. He leans on his fence post as if supporting it. In the
afternoon, when we are back in the camp, we find him in the same position. He may not have moved at all. He moves
now and goes with us to the local authority office to ask if we can rent the community centre to record there in the
afternoon. The assistant of the real white mayor, who is not present at the moment, a middle-aged woman looking very
unapproachable, but appears to be helpful and promises to meet us at 3 p.m. at the community centre. A teacher and a
class of small children pass us as we are waiting in front of the office. The teacher is the son of the white mayor. A former
student of theology, he changed his mind before his dedication. He does not give a damn about Aladar’s greeting. Even
the young, nicely dressed, Gypsy woman detest Aladár. It reveals that two Romany castes live in Janovce. Plebians in the
camp–never greeted and usually causing shame in the opinion of those who are richer and more civilized living in houses
among the whites. They do not like camp people. Aladar says there were four houses in the camp during his childhood.
Now 400 people live there.
In Malý Slavkov we schedule an evening session. Anyone who can sing
leaves for a relative’s funeral in the next village.
We get some singing in Rakúsy. Our car is parked behind the village at the
beginning of the camp next to big waste containers full to overflowing,
surrounded by huge flies and wasps. An ugly picture.
The camp begins with blocks inhabited by ‘better’ Romany. If we pay they
will sing. They warn us not to go up into the colony. Really bad people live there.
We have heard this friendly backbiting many times. An unpleasant situation.
House next to house, scattered, lacking any system, poor huts and a few
better dwellings, that is the camp. Many people surround us immediately. There
are two booths–shops–white signed by a white owner, Romany signed by a tanned
owner–at the camp’s beginning. We are glad two boys from Veľká Lomnica are
guiding us. A long time passes before we find somebody who is willing to sing. It
is worth the wait and repeating who we are and what we do over and over again.
Endlessly, we have to explain that we do not spend Romany money, if anybody
spends any Romany money. Valéria Mišalková is our sweet reward. She sings
magnificently. In spite of her five operations she is deaf. Also, her interpretation
of the renowned song from the film Gypsies Go to Heaven is very special. Songs make
her jolly or sad in a genuinely Romany way. I take pictures. A small girl has to
change her dress (underwear really) and is sent to pose and have a picture taken
of her. I ask her address and promise to send photos. They are confused; make a
Valéria is our sweet reward.
fuss. Nobody gives the address. I am about to doubt whether we understood each
other or not. After five minutes they show me the girl’s insurance card. I take the
T
145
address from it. Don’t they know it themselves? I do not know. Men ask about a suitable job in Bratislava. The hut of
Valéria’s daughter, Bohuslava (she is a mother already), is neat, clean, decorated a saint’s picture, canvas deer hanging
on the walls, artificial flowers. The young men bring a synthesiser, two, actually. Lucky for us, they are not able to switch
them on or to mend them or to find out what is wrong with them. We are glad. Valéria’s singing does not need any
instrumental support, or an electrical synthesiser. After Artur comes back from school he sings for us. He is not as good
as his mother. The woman praises herself, “I had only two children.”
A crowd of people takes us to our car, horribly sprinkled with excited flies. We get in quickly. We have to pass a little
bridge carefully. Using detergent and scrubbing brushes, a couple of Romany wash carpets directly on quite a busy road.
Why are most carpets red?
Ej di ma maren Romale
ole duj čhavore,
joj, de ole duj čhavore,
so pro šancos bešen.
Eh, don’t beat, Romanies,
those two children.
Oh, these two children
sitting in the ditch.
Soske tu man mukhľan,
de kurva pre tut ľiľan?
Joj, de pre mre duj čhavore,
de mre šukarore.
Why did you leave me,
marrying a whore instead.
Oh, for my two little children
my cute little ones.
Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002
Jaj, Devla, Devla, račuv andre,
de thovav man pašal late.
De pašal late, khatar mande
tejle žuža lepedate.
Alas, God, God, let it be night
I lay myself beside her.
Beside her, beside myself
Under a clean blanket.
Bože, Bože, čo mám robiť?
Mám sa ženiť či vandrovať?
Z vandrovačky nôžky bolia,
oženiť sa nedovolia.
God, God, what should I do?
Should I get married or start wandering?
From wandering my feet ache,
Not letting me get married.
(sung in Slovak)
Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002
Te miri daj merlas,
mange nakazinlas,
joj, de kajses romes te lav,
joj, de se man pačiv dela.
When my mother was dying,
she ordered me
oh, to marry such a man
oh, that would show respect to me.
Parno me na urav,
kalo me na kamav.
Jaj, de mušinav te urel,
jaj, bo imar mri daj merel.
I don’t wear white,
I don’t like black.
But I have to wear it,
‘cause my mother’s dying.
De mamo, miri mamo,
pisin mange jekh ľil.
Joj, de pisin mange jekh ľil,
joj de so mri romňi kerel.
Mama, my mama,
write me a letter.
Oh, write me a letter
oh, what my wife’s doing.
So mri romňi kerel?
Le čhaven čorarel.
Joj, de le čhaven čorarel,
joj, de avre romes kamel.
What my wife’s doing
preying on the poor kids.
Oh, preying on the poor kids
oh, wanting a different man.
Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002; Erika Husárová, Abranovce, 1988; Doda Polhošová, Veľká Lomnica 2002
148
Soske mri daj kerel,
se man ňiko nane?
De amen štar čhavore
de o dad mange muľa.
Why is my mother doing this
so I have no one?
To us four children
our father died.
Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002
Jaj, de somnakune, jaj tosarla,
aven ke man trin bachara.
De phučle mandar, so me kerdžom,
de či me mreži na phagerdžom.
Oh, golden morning,
three prison guards are following me.
They asked me what I had done
whether I had broken the bars.
De o me mreži na phagerdžom,
de pes sloboda doužardžom.
De ke sloboda ke mri romňi,
hej ke mire duj čhavore.
I didn’t break the bars
I have waited to see freedom.
To be free to go to my wife
hey, to my two children.
Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002
Jaj, de šogor, šogor, kaj miri daj?
Jaj te me na džanav, kaj o geľa,
jaj, de trine čhaven pre ma mukhľa,
jaj, de kurvašija svetos geľom.
Dear brother-in-law, where’s my mother?
Alas, I don’t know where she went,
alas, she left three children to me,
alas, and with a woman chaser went into the world.
Valéria Mišalková, Rakúsy 2002
The final stop this spring. We go back to Janovce. After
hesitating a long time a few Romany and a local authority clerk,
Milka, go with us into a local community centre. A big hall `a la
Džugašvili. Mrs. Milka says that when the wind blows from the
camp towards the white village and Gypsies sing, songs fly
through the white windows. It is nice. Singers will sing,
especially a young man who seems to know many songs.
Beginning without the guitar is difficult, though.
Next time, we will take the guitar with us.
I believe one hundred per cent that there will be a ‘next
time’.
In Janovce we listened to the Romanies’ singing in
the community center’s big hall.
Bare dochtorale,
ma maren man ajci, jaj.
Ma maren man ajci, jaj,
de man khere čhave.
Great doctors,
don’t torment me so much.
Don’t torment me so much,
I have children at home.
Bare dochtorale,
sasťaren man avri, jaj.
Sasťaren man avri, jaj,
de bo man khere čhave.
Great doctors,
alas, cure me.
Alas, cure me,
for I have children at home.
Geľom po nadraži
la da te užarel, jaj.
De la čhajendar phučav, jaj,
de džiha o dad dikhle.
I went to the station
to pick up my mother.
I’m asking a girl, alas,
whether they have seen my father alive.
Janovce 2002
149
Chcela bi ja chcela, žebi zdrava bula,
žebi na žeľeznej posceľi boľesci cerpela.
Boľesci cerpela s maceru špivala,
chcela bi ja chcela, žebi zdrava bula.
I would like, I would like to be healthy
so that I wouldn’t lie afflicted with pain in my bed.
Afflicted with pain, singing with my mother,
I would like, I would like to be healthy.
Chcela bi ja chcela, žebi zdrava bula,
žebi s ocom na dvore pesňički špivala.
S maceru tak špivala, s ocom tancovala,
chcela bi chcela, žebi zdrava bula.
I would like to, I would like to be healthy,
so that I could sing songs with my father in the
yard.
Singing with my mother, dancing with my father,
I would like, I would like to be healthy.
Tomáš Sivák, Petrová 2001, Janovce 2002
(Tuesday, May 28, 2002, Rakúsy, Janovce)
150
Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ
E SPIŠA
THE MEK JEKHVAR E SPIŠA
BARI LOMŇICA HIŇI BARI
ale sam andre Bari Lomňica. Pal o idžeskro brišind hin savoro čikalo. O murša phučen pal o love, the te giľavel pen
na kiden. O džuvľa na mangen love, the te giľavel, the te giľavel pes kiden. Trin phureder džuvľa (Doda Polhošova,
Miria Horvathova u Terezia Polhošova), trin romane terne čhave sar lengre garde. E parňi raňi sikľarďi mukhel amen
andre bľachiko barakos, andre soba, savi hiňi sar ťelocvičňa. But čhavore pes domaren andre, no hiňi zarimen. Andre
paši klasa džal o sikľuviben. E raňi sikľarďi nane peskre čhavendar lošaľi, no lel e luma ajsi, savi hiňi, dži akana lake nane
kirko u paťav, kaj aňi na avela. E Daňa ačhel avri u kerel fotka, bi daraďi čhaj. Chudas informacija, hoj idž na sas maj
feder ďives, kaj te avas andre, vaš oda, hoj chudenas o socijalna deňipena, chuden len adaj na jekhvar savore, avka sar
džal e abeceda, bi lačhi atmosfera andro paluno ďives kerďas the pro kotor e tharďi, phenel e sikľarďi.
O džuvľa giľaven, hin maškar lende e konkurencija. Varesavi ajsi konfrontacija sas the andre Vechca. Doda hiňi
energicko, šaj kerelas elektrika kaj te del udut. Marija phirelas andre škola Ostravate, sikľolas the ungrika, šaj bikenelas
andro obchodos pro Čechi, džanelas but, sas len lačhi sikľarďi, dži adaďives Marija džanel te genel the te lekhavel, the o
telegramos andre te pherel, pal oda avle la fameľijaha pale pre Slovaťiko u imar kerelas ča žutipnaskri zor. Doda la prekal
čhinel, tosara giľavelas, avka mište lake džalas, jekh giľi pal o aver, akana peske našťi mište te leperel, varekana chal o
andro, te peske žužarel o hangos.
Vaš o giľa mište hoj avľam.
O terne amen vičhinen pre skuška so hin e suboris kijo rat andro Kentucky bar, prindžaren the o purane giľa, soske
o phure romňa len avri giľaven u terne lendar sikľon.
Džas prekal o gavoro, avel ke amende o starostas, imar ke amende nane rosna, len amen maškar pende. But čik,
džungaľi čik, churde kherora, baro čoripen, andro duj bitovki pro agor andre koloňija pes feder bešel, odoj hin paňi
andro vodovodos the budaris. Lokhes džas pal droma-na droma, kerav but fotografiji, adaj hin lange čhavore. Mel.
Varesave rikone. E džuvľi andro lolo županos, kamav la tele te lel korkora, no oda našťi. O šerutno vakerel pal e
komunalno politika. Sikavel o plani, sar ačhavena o neve khera le Romenge.
Pre jekh sera džal paš e osada o frekventovano drom, džan prekal late akana but nakladna vurdona, džan but sig,
the te o limitos phenel pal o 40 kilometri pre ora, džan bi jakhengro, ča te so majsig dikhen ole džungale Romen andro
paluno gendalos.
Ki o raťi sam pre skuška so kerel o folklorno suboris Ľoľi rokľica. Andro parno čhavorikano folklorno suboris hin o
šerutno, savo pes dikhel sar phundrado manuš, maškar leskre čhavore hin the jekh romano, phende peske, kaj dena
šajipen te kerel o programos the le čhavorenge andal e koloňija. O šerutno lenge diňas than andro kulturakro kher, the
muzikakre inštrumenti. O muzikanta (Gusto Gabor – lavuta, Stano Lacko – bari bugova, Dušan Lacko – gitara, Ernest
Polhoš – akordeon) hine but lačhe, ola so kelene na, nek buter jekh čhavo (Stano Čonka) but šukares giľavel, aľe o
šerutno ispidel angle jekh šukar čhajora sane hangoha. O čhavo so giľavel chal choľi, šunel peskri kvalita, no o dživipen
hino rosno ki o varesave manuša the bare skupini.
(hetfine, 27.5.2002, Bari Lomňica)
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151
E mašina maj piskinel,
čore Roma maj ladinen.
Čore Roma avka roven,
bo len lidžan pre šibeňa.
116
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ANDRŠ, Z.: Bertenošika giľa aneb Romové, vězení a píseň. In: Romano džaniben 3–4, 1997, s. 70–85.
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I de o brišind, de o brišind,
o gad pre man cindo.
Ko les mange šučarla,
mri phuri dajori.
CONTENTS
Marián VARGA
ANGLUNO LAV PAL ODA, SOSKE AVĽAS
AVRI KADI GENĎI Jana BELIŠOVÁ
A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE ORIGIN AND PURPOSE
OF THIS BOOK Jana BELIŠOVÁ
SINGING AND SILENCE Jana BELIŠOVÁ
On the Way to Prešov
Erika and Hare Krishna
Pay With Whatever You Wish, Just Pay
Possibly the Oldest Romany Woman
Do Not Throw Anyone to the Fire!
Where the Svinka Stream Flows
Ilona
Toluene
BLACK AND WHITE WORLD? Jana BELIŠOVÁ
There is No Postwoman Like a Postwoman
Beško from Orátko
Glittering Eyes in the Dark
Hippocratic Oath? And What is That?
Heroes and Heroines
ANOTHER VIEWPOINT OF THE STORY Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ
When Reality Looks Even Better Than the Most Beautiful Dream
Not Every Cookie Crumbles the Same Way
If Some Days Did Not Exist We Would Not Miss Them at All
Beauties and Beasts
Apocalypse Now
IN THE FAR EAST Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ, Jana BELIŠOVÁ
Kick Off
Ukraine at Our Fingertips
Michal and His Group
In Vechec
Salt Burned Our Eyes
Besides Béla and Róbert Jenko are Here
More of Zemplin
Hermanovce Full of Cradles
SPIŠ AND ONCE MORE SPIŠ Zuzana MOJŽIŠOVÁ
Unusual Reserve
A Dutch Man Amongst the Romany
Negative, Positive
Veľká Lomnica is Big
Valéria and Flies
Literature
9
13
Phurikane giľa
ancient Romany songs
© Civic association Žudro
Project was supported:
Next Page Foundation
Open Society Foundation
Authors: © Jana Belišová, Zuzana Mojžišová
Translation to Romany language: František Godla
Translation to English language: Mária Nováková, Marián Gazdík, Daniela Olejárová
Proofs: Gail Ollsson, Milan Godla and Daniela Šilanová
Ilustrations: © Jaroslav Beliš
Photos: © Daniela Rusnoková
Design: © Zuzana Číčelová, Calder – design community
Tlač: FORMÁT, Bratislava
ISBN: 80-968855-5-3
Contact:
Jana Belišová
Civic association Zudro
Bilíkova 13
841 01 Bratislava
Slovakia
+421/2/64 46 35 91
[email protected]
So hin učo oda svetos,
hej, de te merel, jaj, mušinav.
Hej, de te merel, jaj, mušinav,
hej, de ňič man Devla, ňič na dukhal.
Ancient
Roma
Songs
Jana Belišová (1965) studied
ethnology and musicology at the
Faculty of Arts of Coemniues
University in Bratislava. For over
seventeen years she has been dealing with authentic Roma
music. She collects songs directly in the milieu of Roma
settlements in Slovakia. She has written several reports on
social topics in the journals Mosty and Dieťa nielen pre
rodičov. She has published professional articles and essays
in the anthology Neznámi Rómovia (The Unknown Roma
People, 1990), in the Ethnology Essays and in the journal
Slovenská hudba (2000). In 2002 she published triptych
Phurikane giľa – Ancient Roma Songs for Slovak audience.
It consists of the book, anthology and the CD. In 2003 she
released CD Karačoňa – Roma Christmas. At present she
works in the civic association OZ Žudro.